


The Silence In My Head Is Deafening.

by West_Coast_Moper



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Awkward Meetings, Famous!Patrick, M/M, More Patrick centered than you'd expect, Multi, Other, Slight Crossdressing Kink, nerdy!Pete, punk!patrick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/West_Coast_Moper/pseuds/West_Coast_Moper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's eyes scan over the article, from the image of the man himself, holding a guitar on stage,  Pete's assuming he's a musician, seems his name is Patrick Stump, and he's twenty years old, young, Pete muses, before shaking his head. He's not even sure why he cares, it's not like he's ever gonna meet the guy...Right?</p><p> </p><p>In short Patrick and Pete meet on a train, Patrick's sort of a dick, Pete is a stuttering mess, and fate is trying to tell them something, TAKE THE HINT BOYS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The quiet in my head at night never settles right.

**Author's Note:**

> New idea I'm working on.

Quiet nights in the library aren't really Pete's perception of fun, but then again he doesn't get up to much fun, at least by other people's standards, he's sort of an introvert at heart, only having about 3 people he calls close friends, and the rest just simple acquaintances.

 

From the look of him, he's what you'd call a stereotypical nerd, too skinny, thick black glasses, over sized sweaters, and if that's not bad enough, his full time job is working at a book store.

 

Pete inhales deeply, moving to rummage through the stack of magazines to bide his time, not to say Pete doesn't enjoy being there. One of his biggest hobbies since he was a small child was reading books. Which is one of the reasons why he applied for this job in the first place, but he'd rather write, and be heard, then give away someone else's words and stay silent. He wants to have a voice.

 

Looking through the pages of one of the magazines, his eyes stray to the face of a too pale man, with a pretty, pretty mouth. Several tattoos coating up and down his arms, his hair a powder blue, a couple piercings. One piercing in particular takes Pete's interest.

 

Pete personally has always had a thing for septum piercings, and if he's honest, tattoos, and piercings in general. Not a lot of people would expect him to like half the things he likes, but hey, don't judge a book by it's cover.

 

Pete's eyes scan over the article, from the image of the man himself holding a guitar on stage, Pete assumes he's a musician, seems his name is Patrick Stump, and he's twenty years old, young, Pete muses, before shaking his head. He's not even sure why he cares, it's not like he's ever gonna meet the guy.

 

 flopping the magazine down on the desk, he leans back in his chair, closing his eyes, almost falling asleep, eyelids snapping open when he hears a loud chime, resounding, from the door swinging open, causing a breeze. 

 

Sighing, he sits up, he wasn't really expecting anyone this late, fixing his glasses, he glances up at the clock attached to the wall, about five minutes till closing time.

 

He turns back with a slight frown, before realizing just who it is, "Oh, Joe, it's just you." Pete mutters, bringing a hand to his forehead, Joe crosses his arms, "Well that's not very friendly of you, maybe I'll have to report a complaint" He jokes, sitting on the desk.

 

Pete shakes his head, "How 'bout no, now scoot your butt off my work space." Pete says, shooing Joe away.

 

"Fine, fine, don't get your panties in a twist." Joe grumbles, making Pete's eyebrows pull together, angrily flushing, he hisses out, "Shut the fuck up _Trohman._ " 

 

Joe raises his hands in surrender, expression full of shock, he hops off the desk, "My bad, I forgot, anyway you remember the plans, right?" Pete groans, slumping back into his chair, "I don't know, I think...Can't I just stay back at my apartment for the night?" Joe scoffs at him, "You are not slip and slidin' your way out of this, sorry princess." He shakes his head.

 

"Did you come here just to bother me, or...?" Pete asks, before moving to hurl a pen at Joe. 

 

Joe easily dodges it, "Yeah, pretty much." He replies, shrugging, "You're lucky that pen wasn't a book." Pete growls, standing up, "It's time for me to close up shop, anyway." He opens one of his drawers, grabbing his keys. Pete pushes Joe out of the shop, and switches off the lights, before stepping out, locking the door.

 

Pete turns back to Joe, rolling his eyes, "I'll see you at your stupid unnecessary get together, okay?" Joe glares, and makes a half-hearted attempt to punch him in the shoulder, "You better, and it's not stupid, dick." Pete smirks at him, and spins around, starting to trudge down the sidewalk in the direction of the subway, stopping in his steps, when Joe continues, "Oh! That reminds me, that hot guy, you might like, his name is P-" Joe begins, before a series of cars honking drive by, drowning out whatever name Joe said, Pete couldn't really decipher it, he thinks it ended in ick, ick? Well, that's reassuring.

 

He hates being forced to meet Joe's friends with a passion, it feels exactly like his mom setting him up for a play date, he knows Joe means well, but sometimes he'd rather just stay alone...he's used to it.

 

-

 

Pete darts onto the train, almost being left behind, because of Joe holding him up, God dammit, Joe, scowling at nothing, he grabs one of the handles, looking around in the mass of people, his gaze locks onto a certain figure, familiar blue hair, smothered under a black beanie, dark shades, and a snug fitting dark blue hoodie. Pete narrows his eyes, before shaking his head, there's no way, tons of people have hair like that... it could be anyone.

 

Whatever, it doesn't matter anyway, what would a guy like that, want with a guy like Pete? He'd break him in two, he got enough of the assholes like that in high school. Pete huffs, and lets go of the handle, crossing his arms, him being reminded of his teenage years causes an unpleasant itch to suppress itself underneath his skin, he shudders slightly, and grimaces, taking a deep breath, he tries to think about something else.

 

Maybe that guy Joe's obviously trying to set him up with, Pete still can't figure out what the name was, Joe said the guy was rough around the edges, but sweet once you got to know him. He also said that there's a surprise in the package that is the guy, he didn't even bother telling Pete what it was though, well, he did say surprise...what a bastard.

 

Pete continues to think about nothing in particular. Did he lock the front door? He doesn't remember. Did he remember to put the milk back in the fridge? If he didn't Mikey's gonna kill him, did he remember to feed Hemmy? Yeah, yeah he did, he knows how Hemmy gets when he's hungry, basically destroying everything in his path, he already does that alone, but Pete can at least try to tame it. he was lucky when his landlord let him keep his dog in the first place, he doesn't want to push it.

 

The train comes to a stop, lurching, and Pete's reminded by the sad fact that he forgot he let go of the handle keeping him intact, and now he's falling to his doom, he clenches his eyes shut, bracing himself for the fall, yelping when he lands on a person's lap, blinking his eyes open, he's met face to face with the suspicious blue headed man, though missing the shades this time, most likely to have flown off when Pete fell on him, and holy shit, It's Patrick Stump, he just fell on Patrick Stump.

 

The man seems to stare at him just as dumbfounded as he is, mouth agape, looking at him in awe, they stare at each other for a few more moments before his shock subsides, "Are you going to get off me anytime soon?" He growls out, causing Pete to quickly scurry out of his lap, apologizing, he ignores Pete's apology, jumping out of his chair, looking around rapidly in different directions, for what Pete assumes to be his glasses, Pete notices them sitting beside his feet, bending over to pick them up, he reluctantly steps over to the man, tapping on his shoulder.

 

The man turns around, and scowls, "What the hell do you want, now?" He demands, Pete scrunches his face up in fear, even though the man is smaller than him in size, he's extremely intimidating, Pete slowly pushes the glasses forward, "H-here." He mumbles out, "I-I'm s-sorry." Ducking his head, he turns around, beginning to do the walk of shame, freezing when a hand grabs at his arm, and a mouth whispers softly against his ear, making him shiver, "It's okay." The hand disappears just as quickly as it came, He waits a few moments, before whirling around...The man's gone.


	2. I'm tempted to learn just what secret you hide.

Buildings, and street lights illuminate the night, masses of people crowding throughout the area, and Pete can almost smell the alcohol. Drunken idiots parading around the sidewalks as if they own the place. This is the tragedy Pete has to deal with every time he walks home from the subway, he shakes his head, exhaling quietly, breath visible from the chilled cold, it's practically in the negatives, and Pete really needs to get his ass home before it freezes.

 

Speeding up somewhat, to avoid drawing unwanted attention, he already attracts enough from the drunkards, always getting called out, and he fucking hates it, whether it's an insult, or a cheesy pickup line, he still wants to march over, and punch their lights out, but the thought of him lying face down, beaten to a pulp in the middle of a dark alley way, makes resisting temptation an easy task.

Pete knows he's a wimp...He just doesn't need other people addressing it. The only thing he needs is to make it back to his apartment, make some steamy hot chocolate, and curl up on the couch with Hemmy, he'll probably just end up passing out, while watching a movie.

Pete wraps his arms around his middle, shivering, and his teeth chattering, he really should've remembered to grab his coat before he left for work, late from the persistent annoyance of insomnia, and the fear of what his head will decide to thrust upon him in the form of nightmares.

Growling quietly, he picks up the pace, from what he can tell, he's about three minutes away, thank god.

He tries setting his mind on something other than the cold, flashes of the train ride come to him, he scrunches his face up, embarrassment, and shame pooling in the bottom of stomach, feeling like it's affecting him more than it should be, he should be used to it by now, but from the obvious pain in his chest, he knows now that he'll never be.

Pete cannot actually believe he managed to fall onto a famous musician, just his luck. It's pretty typical for him to screw up like that, from all his experiences in high school, from bumping into someone, and spilling his tray on them in the cafeteria, to being tripped in the hallway by some stupid jock, what an asshole.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't even realize when he makes it to his destination. Thus succeeding in stumbling over the stairs, and landing on his face, body sprawled out, and wow, he's as graceful as a fucking butterfly today, isn't he?

 

Groaning, he stands up, wiping dust off his jeans, and now his face hurts, wonderful. Scowling at said stairs, he huffs, and continues up, all the way to his door. Pulling out his key, he unlocks it, slowly stepping in, he begins to remove his shoes, smiling when he hears a familiar whimper, coming from his dog, standing up straight, he starts to pull off his sweater, stopping when a voice shouts out, "Pete? Is that you?!"

 

Rolling his eyes, he responds, "No, Mikey, its a burglar, who just so happens to have a key to the front door." Mikey's head appears, peeking out from the bathroom door, he saunters out, opening his mouth to retort, before pausing, "What happened to your face?"

 

Pete wasn't even aware it left a bruise, perfect. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, before opening them, "The stairs decided to talk shit, so I stood up for myself." Or should he say fell, "And let me tell you, I did not win." Giving a slight grin, he crosses the room to the kitchen, famished, and if he could, he'd probably eat the entire fridge.

 

"Clearly." Mikey laughs, trailing behind him, "Your poor little face, at least you didn't break your glasses."

 

Shit, Pete didn't even think about that, well..they didn't fall off so he'll give himself an A for effort.

 

Pete hums in agreement, "Yeah, I guess." Shrugging, he opens the fridge, nothing, God damn it. He pouts, turning to face Mikey, "I thought it was your turn to go shopping for groceries." He whines, wiggling from side to side.

 

Mikey's eyes widen, "Oops." He says, grinning sheepishly, "Why not just order a pizza?" He suggests, plucking his phone off the table.

 

"Fuck yes, but you're calling."

 

"Yeah, yeah."

 

-

Pete staggers awake, blinking wearily, he's lying on the couch, back aching, Hemingway is asleep on top of his chest, and, oh, okay, his dog kind of needs to go on a diet.

 

Groaning, he turns his neck, gazing at the beeping clock across the room, announcing that it's four in the morning.

 

Sighing, he glances around the room, the table's surrounded in mostly eaten boxes of pizza, slices somewhat hanging out, a movie menu's repeating continuously on the television screen, He squints his eyes, noticing a figure curled into a ball on the floor, he snorts when he realizes it's Mikey.

 

Pete shrugs his dog off gently, standing up, and stretching, his neck cracks and pops while his back does the same, he grimaces, that can't be healthy.

 

Mikey snuffles in his sleep, wriggling slightly against the floor, Pete giggles at the sight. Grabbing a pillow, and a blanket, he steps over to Mikey, bending down, he lifts Mikey's head, placing the pillow underneath, and then throws the blanket over him, gently tucking him in.

 

Pete gives a sluggish grin, before turning around, and stumbling to his room.

 

Yawning, he slumps into his bed, not quite ready yet to give in to sleep, he sits up, leaning forward to turn on his lamp, he grabs at his laptop, pressing the power button, and taps his fingers impatiently against the mouse.

 

After his computer has finally started up, he opens up a word pad, cracking his fingers, before he begins to type out the events of today, as they repeat through his head. Hands faltering slightly when he gets to the point of the train, shaking his head, he continues. 

 

Inhaling deeply, he saves it, and shuts his computer, shoving it under his bed.  Leaning over again to turn off his lamp, he twists, and turns onto his side, slowly closing his eyes, feeling drained just from today, which isn't actually a surprise.

 

The last thing on his mind, before he drifts off, being a pale man, with blue hair.

 

Smiling lazily, his breathing slows, as the sun begins to rise.

 

-

 

The shop is quite empty around the afternoon, actually it's sort of always empty, but that's not the point, it's basically a ghost town in here, and Pete's all alone, sitting at his desk, tinkering with his watch, a dull expression never leaving his face, while he tries to think of a way to pass the time instead of waiting around in silence.

 

His phone vibrates suddenly, clamoring against the table, producing a loud racket, picking it up with a frown, he recognizes it's from Mikey, and it's a photo of Hemmy...Drooling all over his sweater that he forgot to put in the wash, well, he won't forget now, thanks Mikey.

 

Smirking, he snaps a picture of himself, flipping the bird, and sends it to Mikey, before settling back into his innocent posture, he leans farther back into his chair, trying to blow hair out of his face, yet it's a failed attempt, and the hair doesn't budge, he should probably get it cut soon, it's starting to become a nuisance...Maybe he'll dye it? Pushing that thought to the back of his mind for now, though he'll definitely consider it.

 

He's interrupted from his thoughts, when a high pitched chime sounds from the door, and, okay, is someone actually coming in to buy something? The most shocking thing about his week, besides the obvious.

 

It's a man, at least that's what Pete can make out from the large baggy black hoodie, and the shades hiding most of his face.

 

Pete's sort of getting a creepy vibe from this guy, can't really tell why, maybe it's the familiarity of the situation, he's not sure.

 

The man freezes when he sees Pete, "U-uh, hi?"

 

Pete narrows his eyes in confusion at the uncomfortable greeting, while the man fidgets nervously, a small amount of pity forms in his chest at that, he certainly knows the feeling, so why not try, and make him feel better?

 

Pete lets loose a toothy grin, "Hi, what are you looking for?"


	3. That secret is mine to keep, and yours to earn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you asked what Patrick's favorite month was, he'd tell you December.

If you asked what Patrick's favorite month was, he'd tell you December, reason being is that he's loved winter since he was just a small boy, the faint aroma of burning firewood in the sky, the sight of icicles bleeding down tree branches, and dripping off from gutters.

 

It's the season where everyone, and everything seems to just go to sleep, stress evaporates, eyes brighten, children cry out in happiness when snow days are announced. The roads are icy, sidewalks slick, snowflakes coating the windshields of cars. 

 

The satisfying crunch beneath Patrick's shoes, snow softening from the blow of his step. The imprint of his feet quickly being overlapped by a fresh new sheet of snow. Constantly testing the chill of the air by exhaling, and feeling vibrant when it finally becomes visible.

 

Drinking a steaming mug of hot chocolate, whilst being curled up by the fireplace, for all these reasons, Patrick would gladly choose winter before summer, another one being that he can disguise himself as much as he wants without being drenched in sweat, while during the summer he's constantly identified, because he'd rather not die from a heat stroke.

 

All winter obsessions aside, the day is beautiful the sun is shining, snow shimmering, almost blinding from the light reflecting off of it, and that special winter scent getting stronger than ever, yet Patrick couldn't care less, his mind too busy, stuck on the events from last night, he clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth, irritated by the fact that he was recognized, but more so from the way he reacted, the poor guy looked absolutely petrified,  and Patrick really can't blame him. He's aware of his appearance, and he certainly doesn't look like the cuddly type, nor is he actually, well...It depends.

 

Patrick knows he's not the most approachable guy, but scaring people is definitely not on his agenda. Sighing, he stirs the hazelnut flavoring in his coffee gently, currently sitting at the table in his kitchen.

 

He gazes out the window, contemplating on what he should do today, being it's one of his days off. He squints his eyes, when he notices a cat pawing it's way through his backyard, grinning, he shakes his head, taking a sip of his coffee, he's got a giant appreciation for cats, adoring them because of their sarcastic nature, not necessarily because he's a cat person, for one thing he's not the best at taking care of animals, especially with the lack of time in his present position, unfortunately for him.

 

Furrowing his eyebrows, Patrick remembers he does in fact have plans this weekend, thinking it's to visit a friend? Or is it a get together? He's not sure. He hasn't seen the guy in practically forever, possibly a year ago?

 

Maybe he should buy a gift, what would he even buy? He hums softly, going in for another mouthful of coffee, wincing when it burns the roof of his mouth, he swallows the liquid roughly, sliding out of his chair, he searches through the cupboard, eyes widening in delight when he finds his favorite cereal, grabbing at it, he crosses the room to snag a recently washed bowl from the sink.

 

Skipping back to the table, he pours his cereal, and grabs the milk, previously used to add to his coffee, spilling in a small amount, before setting it back down.

 

He sits back in his chair, picking up a spoon to satiate his hunger. looking up when he hears a faint whistling, and a shirtless Brendon saunters in, with a satisfied grin on his face...Wait a minute, Patrick's eyes widen in terrified realization, when he hears light footsteps creaking from upstairs, well, now he knows what that racket was last night.

 

"You did not have a one night stand in our house." Patrick says in disbelief, mouth agape.

 

Brendon shrugs, "I did not have a one night stand in our house." He repeats, opening the fridge and taking out a carton of orange juice

 

Patrick frowns, tilting his head, confused, "What? He asks, pushing his forgotten cereal aside, which is probably soggy now. Gross.

 

"Technically it wasn't a one night stand, 'cause he's my boyfriend." Brendon replies, giving a slight smirk, before drinking straight from the carton.

 

"Why did I ever agree to living with you?" Patrick sighs, slumping back in his chair. Maybe he should stab Brendon with a fork or something, just a thought.

 

"Dunno, ask yourself that." Brendon snickers, sitting next to Patrick, stealing the same bowl of cereal, Patrick doesn't even have an appetite anymore. He jolts suddenly, making Brendon jump, "Wait, boyfriend?" He questions, scowling in Brendon's direction, Brendon nods, "Yep my boyfriend."

 

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Brendon hesitates before replying, "Well, I know you just got out of a relationship, so.."

 

He stares for a moment, before responding, "Uh, I don't know how to tell you this Brendon, but that was six months ago."

 

Brendon pauses, " _Wait, what?_ " He asks, face scrunching up in confusion. "Yeah, six months, man." Patrick repeats, rolling his eyes when Brendon scratches the back of his neck and gives an uncomfortable grin. "Oops...My bad."

 

"Nice going, Bren." He comments, standing up, "I'm gonna go out, I'll see you later." Stopping, when Brendon says, "Don't forget your disguise, superman."

 

"Fuck you." He mutters, before running up the stairs, and oh, hey, there's a another shirtless guy blocking his way, he presumes it's Brendon's boyfriend, and seriously where did all the shirts go?

 

"Uh.." Patrick shifts awkwardly, discomfort engulfing him, "So..You're Patrick, right? The musician?" He asks, a fascinated expression spreading across his face.

 

Patrick's breath hitches,  _oh, oh no_. "Yeah...?" The guy grins at him, "I'm Ryan, and from what I can tell you're panicking, don't worry I won't tell a soul."

 

"And just how do I know that?" He asks, narrowing his eyes, while the guy smirks at him, "You don't, just gonna have to trust me Patty."

 

Patty? This guy wants to die apparently, he can make that happen, shaking his head, he sighs out, "Whatever." Taking in a deep breath, he puffs his chest out, standing to his full height of only 5'5, but he's not short, okay?

 

Glaring daggers, he shoves past the guy, in the direction of his room to change, which basically means throwing on a hoodie, some shades, and a hat.

-

 

After running around the streets, for at least an hour, Patrick's pissed, tired, and just pure desperate. S _eriously how hard is it to just find a damn gift?!_

 

Stopping in his tracks, when he sees a bookstore, well, he's desperate, why the fuck not?

 

He pushes the door open, bell making a loud chime, causing him to jump slightly, Jesus, he needs to calm down. walking towards to desk, he freezes, wait...Oh my god.

 

It's the guy he yelled at on the train, well, shit.

 

Eyes widening when he realizes the man has noticed him, and here he is just standing here, staring right at him, wow, he tends to think of himself as confident, but right now he's just a puddle of failure.

 

"U-um, hi?" He cringes internally when he hears how high pitched his voice sounds, he really hopes this guy doesn't notice who he is, because wow, wouldn't that be amazing to explain?

 

 _"Oh no, I'm not stalking you, I swear!"_ Patrick continues to mock himself, until he sees the man smiling at him, and dang that's a lot of teeth, "Hi, what are you looking for?"

 

What even is he looking for? Joe likes guitars right? He could no doubt get a book about them or some shit. Patrick mentally rolls his eyes at himself, why does he care so much? It's Joe, sure, he hasn't seen him in awhile, but Joe would probably still thank him for Cheetos, if he brought them.

 

...Why didn't he think about bringing food? Well it's too fuckin' late now.

 

"Uh, do you have anything on guitars?" He finds himself asking, voice still squeaky, but that's just because he's trying to disguise his voice now, he knows the guy would realize who he was if he spoke normally, and no fuckin' way is he gonna do that, nope, he doesn't care if he sounds like a damn mouse.

 

"Yeah, we do, uh, it's in the section...called musical instruments." He says slowly, pointing to the obvious section, covered in actual stickers of instruments, and Patrick wants to die.

 

It's silent for a few seconds, before Patrick darts over to the section, hiding behind the shelf, he grabs the first book he sees, and oh would you look at that, it's a book about the history of guitars, that's fine, anything to get him out of this situation, holy shit.

 

Not saying he's got anything against this guy, he's just got confrontation issues. He'd apologize, but he can't really risk, "Unmasking" himself, not right now.

 

He reluctantly walks towards the man again, "Uh, yeah, I'd like to buy this..Please?"

 

Now that he's close enough to really look at the man, he can make out a name tag, spelling out Pete, Pete? He hums softly, "That's fitting" Slapping a hand across his mouth, when he realizes he said that out loud, the man looks up, "Excuse me?" "Nothing, nothing, sorry." He laughs nervously, "Your name is just, um fitting." He says, resulting in a small smile being thrown his way, by the man, "Thank you, I think?"

 

Patrick shifts from one leg to the other, before responding, "You thought right." Giving a slight grin, before it quickly leaves his face, the guy probably didn't even see it.

 

Patrick watches the man bag the book, before he says,  "That'll be 23.85, um, sir." Patrick quickly takes out his wallet, "Right, right." He mumbles, pulling out a crumbly twenty dollar bill, and a five, "Here, keep the change.." 

 

The man hands the bag over to him, "Thank you, please come again." He beams, Patrick gives a small chuckle, "Of course, Pete."

 

Pete gives that toothy smile again, when he uses the name, "Have a nice day." 

 

Patrick murmurs out "You too." Before slowly making his way out of the shop. He might even visit again, if he can keep his identity a secret, but right now he's gotta worry about that get together.

 

"Joe better love this god damn book." He growls under his breath, trudging down the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of proud of this chap -cough- hope you enjoy


	4. My Mind's a Ticking Time Bomb, Shut It off, Before It Shuts Me Off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter has been edited: Took out mentioning of a skirt for the sheer fact that it's unnecessary for the plot right then and there. I apologize.

The sun has risen, light filtering through the blinds, tinting the darkened room in a faint glow, clothes litter the floor, and books are piled in an attempt to imitate towers, crumbled newspapers, and several ancient pictures smother the dingy almost tearing wallpaper.

 

An alarm clock begins to blare, flashing that the present time is 7:10, a small lump under the blankets jolt, shifting, before a clumsy hand snakes out, dropping on top of the snooze button, succeeding in bumping into a phone on the way, causing a loud thunk when it makes impact with the floor.

 

The lump produces a small sigh, wriggling, and making the covers slide down somewhat, eyelids snap open, revealing a warm whiskey brown.

 

Eyes blink wearily, vision blurring before focusing in the dim lighting, Pete muffles a yawn behind his hand, slowly sitting up, he drags himself out of bed, and crouches, averting his gaze to the floor, searching throughout the mess that is his room, for his fallen phone.

 

A frown making its way onto his face when he can't find a trace of the missing technology, until a loud beeping sounds from one of his sweater vests, startling him. He glares while muttering profanities, before crawling over to the piece of fabric, unveiling his phone, to a call from... _Gabe?_

 

Why's Gabe calling him at this time? Pete's just gonna assume that he never went to bed last night, and is still hysterical from partying late, rolling his eyes, he scoops up his phone, and slides his finger across the screen to answer, putting it against his ear, "Gabe?"

 

" _Wentz, baby_ ,  _I'm taking you to breakfast!_ " Gabe's voice shouts into the phone, making Pete yelp, and reel back, "Gabe, I ca-" He begins to say, before Gabe cuts him off with, "Nope, I won't take no for an answer, now go get all pretty for me, and I'll see you in 30." And then a click...He hung up. God damn it Gabe you lunatic, Pete shakes his head, growling, "Well, now I have plans for the morning." He mutters, standing up and walking over to his closet to snag an outfit for the day, because fashion is obviously his life, he snorts a laugh, and spins around to head to the bathroom.

 

Pete swings open the door, shrieking when he spots a naked Mikey Way in the shower. " _Shit, sorry!_ " He apologizes, shielding his eyes with a hand, before scurrying out of the room, stumbling and tripping over his own feet.

 

He sags against the wall, chest moving rapidly, he's probably reacting more than he should be, this isn't the first time he's walked in on Mikey, whether it was him jerking off, or changing, Pete still freaks out every time, he didn't always, but that's kind of a long story.

 

His breath hitches and his body freezes up when he hears the door open, _crap._

 

Mikey slips out with a towel around his waist, expression blank, "Um, sorry for not locking the door, I thought you were asleep." He scratches at one of his shoulders, causing the towel to loosen, at this Pete's face turns a bright shade of red, this is so embarrassing.

 

Standing up straighter, he responds, "No, no, it's fine, I should've knocked, lets just forget this happened, 'kay?" Cringing lightly at the use of his words, "Right." Mikey nods, a grim look spreading across his face, "So, breakfast?" He asks, gazing behind Pete's shoulder, "Actually, Gabe just called me, turns out I have plans, I'll see you later though." Pete answers, flush darkening, this could not be more terrible, oh my god.

 

"Gabe?" Mikey asks, eyebrows furrowed, Pete should've expected the question, he doesn't even know the answer.

 

"I have no idea, man." He shrugs, hesitating, he continues, "Uh, anyway, I should probably get changed." He cranes his neck to glance at the clock across the room, shit, he only has 20 minutes now.

 

"Alright, Later." Mikey mumbles, turning around to walk back to his room.

 

Pete frowns, staring after him for a few seconds, before shaking his head and hurrying to the bathroom.

-

Noisy chattering, booming music, almost loud everything, and Pete feels as if he might end up deaf in one ear after this meal, a small smile forms on his face, it's a diner after all, its got the checkered flooring, although coated with a sheet of dust.

 

The candy apple red booths, shimmering from fluorescent ceiling lights, the cute little matching stools by the bar, that little kids twist and turn on, not that he's ever done it or anything like that.

 

The smell of cheeseburgers, deep fried fries, sizzling crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes, soggy from being drenched in syrup, creating a sweet salty, yet greasy aroma, which, now that he thinks about it, sounds a little gross.

 

Pete lets out a small laugh, he acts like he hates all of it but, he's secretly always loved places like this, it might be the vintage interior design, or maybe the friendly bunch of people, or of course the food, but he enjoys it all the same.

 

Gabe knows how much he adores this diner, though he never voiced it, Gabe may just pay more attention to detail than he formerly assumed.

 

Currently fiddling with his silverware, he's tuning Gabe out as he rants about Bill, "And he's such a tease, I-" Pete rolls his eyes, shaking his head, discreetly of course.

 

Scrunching his face up, when he notices the song playing has a familiar voice, who's singing this?

 

Pete frowns, as he tries to focus harder on the voice, before a hand comes into view, snapping, he lurches back, eyes wide, "Pete? Pete are you even listening?" Gabe asks, annoyed.

 

"Of course I am, you were confessing your love for Bill, right?" Pete says, smirking when Gabe flushes, "No...Fuck you." Gabe replies, crossing his arms, and averting his gaze to the dirty floor with a sudden interest.

 

Pete covers his mouth, snickering, "I applaud you in the beauty of your comeback skills." He mocks, poking Gabe in the hand with a fork.

 

" _Wentz, I swear to god-_ " Gabe begins, going silent when the waitress strolls over, carrying their food, "Here ya go, enjoy boys." She winks, sauntering off, hips moving from side to side, Pete grins, turning back to Gabe, "Who'd you think she was winking at?"

 

"I mean, have you seen me?" Gabe asks, gesturing to his face, "Oh, okay,  _rude._ " Pete comments, pouting. Gabe pets his hand, "Sorry, darling, you're gorgeous don't let anyone tell you different."

 

"Right, I'm a special snowflake, lets embrace it." Pete deadpans, as he grabs a knife to cut into one of his pancakes. Gabe taps a finger against his chin, "Aren't all snowflakes special though?"

 

Pete shrugs, squinting his eyes in search for the syrup, "If all snowflakes were special than none of them would be."

 

Gabe raises an eyebrow at him, pulling the hidden syrup out from behind a sign advertising their new burger with three times the original amount of bacon, Pete grimaces at the sight.

 

"That's the spirit." Gabe comments, hiding a smile, "Y'know I'm just so optimistic that people cannot handle this bundle of joy." Pete gives a toothy smile, wiggling in his seat.

 

Gabe hums, "Of course, that's why you're so excited for tomorrow...Right?" He asks, smirking.

 

Pete scowls in his direction, "Gabe, I will stab you with this spoon." He declares, holding it up, Gabe's eyes widen, putting a hand to his heart, he says, "How could you? I thought we had something, Pete."

 

Pete shakes his head in disagreement, "Sorry baby but, you're not my type." Grinning he continues, "I don't date trees." Gabe narrows his eyes, "Well, I don't date flowers."

 

"I don't know man, Bill seems like a flower type to me." Pete says, shoving a bite of pancake into his mouth. "Pete, don't make me hurt you, 'cause I will hurt you." Gabe glares, scooting his hand towards the butter knife.

 

Swallowing his mouthful of syrup covered heaven, Pete beams, "You'd never harm an innocent little "flower" like me, would you Gabie?" He asks, giving another pout, making sure to add his famous puppy dog eyes this time.

 

Gabe throws a wad of napkins at him, Pete tries to dodge them, but alas a napkin makes contact with his right cheek, he gasps, before sighing, "Thanks Gabe, now I'm dead, this is why we can't have nice things."

 

"My bad." Gabe laughs, "Tomorrow's gonna be great and, you'll cry tears of happiness when you meet the guy Joe's been trying to set you up with." He says, taking a sip of his water.

 

"How do you even know about that?" Pete asks, frowning, news travels way too quickly throughout  their clique of friends.

 

"I know everything." Gabe answers, flashing a wide smile. "Of course you do." Pete agrees, pushing his almost finished plate of food aside.

 

"I just..I'm not good around strangers you know that." Pete mumbles into his cup of orange juice, eyes dimming. "I don't want to disappoint the guy."

 

Gabe scoffs at him, "If he's disappointed he's a dick and, besides you might get a hot boyfriend out of this or a hot friend, you never know." He shrugs, before adding, "Not saying you don't already have hot friends, I mean-"

 

"Gabe."

 

"Sorry."

 


	5. The Prickling In My skin, Feels Almost Like A Crawling Spider.

Patrick's always been quite a heavy sleeper. He slept through his alarm clock as a teenager most of the time, he still does but, y'know that's not the point,

 

His mother was his new alarm after she realized it was futile in even trying to use a clock, she's now been replaced by Brendon, Patrick would rather have his mom if he's honest, she makes some damn good pumpkin squares.

 

He always slept through most of his lessons in high school, resulting in several detentions given to him from angry teachers, upset from the fact that students were falling asleep to their own lectures, it's not personal or anything, he's just not passionate about those kinds of things, like math, fuck math.

 

His mother actually took him to the doctor because she assumed he must of had some type of illness, turns out he's just remarkably lazy, so he basically got diagnosed with laziness.

 

The only class he ever stayed awake in was music, shockingly enough, his passion towards music has always been supreme towards everything else.

 

Playing his first instrument was a more overwhelming situation for him than his first kiss was, that sounds pretty sad if you put it like that, but he's really not aiming to please anyone except himself, not saying he pleased himself that first time, he was truly horrific but, he learned.

 

Just like he learned how to actually kiss someone without bumping into the others nose, or clinking his teeth against theirs, Patrick even bit someone once, complete accident, he swears it on the grave of his goldfish guppy, from when he was 7, he actually threw a funeral for him, all his friends from 2nd grade came, _he cried._

 

Music has always been a huge influence in his life, whether he was dancing like a fool in his bedroom to Prince or when he finally discovered Bowie in his father's garage. Now that he thinks about it, he's pretty sure he left the curtains open when he did that...God damn it.

 

His parents would always joke that he learned to play the drums before he could even walk properly, he wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

 

Patrick feels as if writing music, playing music is something he's actually suppose to do, like he was designed to do it, it's his life.

 

He used to think it was something he could do without worrying about being ordered around by someone else, like nobody would expect him to just bend over for them...Then he got signed, turns out he was completely wrong, especially after last night, when he had to go into the studio and fix the train wreck they made that used to be one of his songs.

 

He's not even sure it was the same song, technically it fuckin' wasn't, not by his standards at least.

 

That brings us back to the original sleeping issue, he's currently passed out, drooling against a pillow, with his hand limp, hanging off the side of the bed, he tends to usually sleep in on weekends, but last night he didn't even get home till 5 in the morning, his anger was momentarily forgotten when he saw his glorious bed, looking like a fluffy white cloud in the midst of a thunderstorm.

 

Just the sight of it could cure his neck and back pains caused from sitting in the same position for 5 hours straight.

 

His phone is buzzing against his bedside table, probably telling him to wake the hell up, no way is that gonna happen and he stays true to his word until a piercing scream breaks the peaceful silence that once was.

 

Patrick springs up wide awake, before he ends up stumbling and falling out of his bed, making a harsh impact with the floor, he lets out a pained grunt when his ankle bends in the wrong direction, and was that a crack?

 

He can still move it though, it's filled with a searing pain that makes him want to cry, another high pitched scream fills his ears making him flinch, he swears quietly, before picking himself up, though with great difficulty and limps his way to the door.

 

He's gonna kill Brendon, that is if Brendon isn't already being killed.

-

He limps down the stairs, letting out a hiss of pain with each step, before freezing when he sees what the commotion is, it's Brendon running around in circles with a broom, trying to smash an also moving black speck on the ground, while Ryan tries to restrain him.

Patrick bursts out laughing at the scene, he'll be mad later, but right now he gonna enjoy this precious joyful laughter he doesn't get enough of.

" _Aren't you gonna help, you ass?!_ " Ryan shouts, waving his arms around frantically.

Patrick tries to choke out a response but ends up laughing even harder, falling to his knees, "I-I don't ev-even know what's h-happening."

 

He really doesn't but from that black dot he's gonna assume a spider, maybe? He knows how much Brendon hates them, he's not a fan either but he definitely doesn't react this way.

 

Patrick slumps on the floor, breathing hard, he's finally managed to stop laughing, moving to stand up, he notices said black speck on his shoulder, making him let out a yelp, brushing it off as quickly as he can, and now Brendon's _laughing._ karma's a bitch.

 

Ryan shakes his head at him, and he still isn't wearing a god damn shirt, Patrick's pretty sure this guy is either homeless or he likes to rebel against society in the form of not wearing clothes, most likely the former, because Patrick has not seen this guy leave, like once.

 

"Y'know the spider is still around the house, right?" Patrick comments, a smug smirk forms on his face when Brendon's laughter stops, "Well, shit." He sighs, picking up the broom again to begin his search for the slippery arachnid.

 

"That broom is seriously not gonna help." Patrick says, raising an eyebrow at the frayed fibers, hopefully Brendon did not destroy the whole house...He probably did, Jesus Christ.

 

Brendon scoffs at him, "Please, how much knowledge do you have in getting rid of spiders?" He says poking Patrick in the chest with the tattered broom, Patrick narrows his eyes, grabbing part of the handle before pulling forward, and making Brendon fall over with a loud thump.

 

" _Ow! Patrick are you serious?!_ " Brendon barks, glaring at him with the utmost amount of fury Patrick's ever seen.

 

He shrugs, "Pay back for waking me up, also my injured ankle but, mostly for waking me up." Brendon opens his mouth, probably in question of what could've happened to his ankle, but the doorbell interrupts him.

 

"That's probably Andy." Brendon says, in addition to Patrick's confused expression, "Oh, okay..Why?"

 

"'Cause I'm not letting you choose your outfit tonight, your wardrobe is like eighty percent hoodies, and the other twenty percent is just shame." Brendon says, shaking his head in disappointment.

 

"Sorry I'm not fashion runway material." Patrick growls, limping over to the front door to let Andy in, poor Andy's probably freezing his ass out there, "Andy! Hi, it's so wonderful to-" Brendon begins, leaping forward, before getting cut off by the man himself.

 

"Keep the ass kissing to a minimum Brendon, I'm here to do a job." Andy grins, stepping forward to give Patrick a quick hug, Brendon whines in displeasure, "Why does he get a hug but, I get shut down?"

 

"Really Brendon, you have to ask?" Andy rolls his eyes, pushing past them, Brendon gasps, "It was the cotton candy incident wasn't it?"

 

"Don't even bring that up, I'm still finding it stuck in areas I didn't even know I had." Andy says, shuddering.

 

Patrick frowns, "Um, what?" He asks, completely confused as to what this whole conversation is about, what the hell could've went wrong with cotton candy?

 

"Don't ask." They both say in unison, grimacing. Patrick blinks, "Well, okay then." After a few moments of silence, Andy suddenly lets out a small chuckle, "So a special someone tells me you have the fashion sense of a 7th grader..Maybe on a good day."

 

" _Excuse me?_ " Patrick says, mouth agape. What? his style is fine, he's actually pretty offended that Brendon would say that, then again he's seen Brendon's taste, it's like he's always trying to make a statement.

 

"Maybe I just like being comfortable." Patrick says crossing his arms.

 

Ryan hums at that, and Patrick almost forgot he was here, "Honey this ain't about you." Brendon says, clucking his tongue, "You need to be presentable tonight, you think you'd be better at this, considering.." Ryan snorts at that, luckily for him Patrick decides to ignore it.

 

"Yeah I know, 'You should totally be fabulous, 'cause you're somewhat famous.'" Patrick mocks, "Hoodies are my safe haven, don't be a dick 'cause you're

different."

Brendon pouts at the cruel treatment, "Why is everyone so mean to me?" He asks to no one in particular, "Just what I get for moving in with the punk queen."

 

"Quiet, unless you want to die." Patrick orders, before turning to Andy, "Now can we please just get this over with?" He begs, clasping his hands together.

 

"Yeah, yeah, calm down, let's head up to your room."

 

Patrick moves to hurry up the stairs, forgetting about his recently injured ankle, fire courses throughout his leg, causing him to groan.

 

"Bren, I'm so killing you later." He promises, scowling in Brendon's direction.

 

Brendon gulps visibly when Patrick growls out maliciously, "Sleep with one eye open,  _darling._ "

 

Andy begins to pull him up the stairs by the arm, chuckling he says, "You love to torture him don't you?"

 

"I really do." Patrick says, letting a sadistic smirk etch its way into his face.

 

-

 

After hours of arguing over what Patrick's to wear, they finally settle on just a black T-shirt and some dark skinny jeans, now they're waiting outside of Joe's house, which by the way there is at least a hundred people here, and Patrick did not agree to this, he pulls his jacket around him tighter, "God, it's cold." He whispers, almost silent, his lips quirk into a small grin when he sees his breath visible in front of his face in the form of soft puffs of air.

 

The door opens to reveal a probably under the influence Joe, " _Guuuuys, hey!_ " He shouts, wobbling slightly, before he sees Andy, "Andy, baby, what's shaking?"

 

"You." Andy says, poking him in the cheek, "You are the biggest the dork."

 

Joe beams at him, before seizing his hand to drag him inside, stopping to yell back at them, " _By the way you guys we're all chilling upstairs in my room!_ " And then they're absorbed into the mass of strangers, well, strangers to Patrick, he knows about 5 people here at most.

 

Patrick sighs loudly, the downside to this is there's so many people around and they'll probably recognize him, and the upside being that there's so many people for him to mix in with, a disgruntled sound escapes the back of his throat.

 

Turning to Brendon, he pleads "Can we leave, I wont kill you in your sleep if we can leave." Patrick knows he's being pathetic but, it's not like you can blame him, he's dealt with this kind of stuff before, and he almost always ends up on the cover of a teen magazine, full of literal bullshit.

 

Ryan laughs at him, "It's gonna be fine, why don't you chill?" Patrick lets loose a growl at that. Brendon shakes his head, "No and, you try to kill me all the time, hit me with your best shot."

 

" _Fire away!_ " Gabe shouts, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, putting his arms around Patrick and Brendon's shoulders, Patrick jumps and kind of feels like he died for a second, _no no he's good_

 

"Jesus fuck Gabe!" He yelps, before shrugging off the unpleasant presence of Gabe's arm, "What the actual hell?" He demands, face flushed from anger, he gets this enough from Brendon every morning and he is so not in the mood for it at night.

 

Brendon doesn't even react, fuckin' figures.

 

"Hey tree, what's up?" Brendon asks, pushing him away lightly, "Don't call me tree, you're not little Pete." Gabe says, rolling his eyes.

 

Pete? that sounds familiar..Who is it though?

 

"Uh who's Pete?" Patrick asks, tucking a stray strand of blue hair into his black beanie, hiding his hair at least adds to nobody noticing who he is, blue hair probably wasn't a good choice, if he's attempting to blend in with other people, blue hair isn't exactly common.

 

"Oh you'll find out... _Soon._ " Gabe leers, before his facial expression goes blank, "Why are we still outside?" He asks, squinting his eyes and, oh, Patrick didn't even realize they were still standing by the front door.

 

"'Cause Patrick's putting off the inevitable." Ryan grins, who even invited him, oh right Brendon, just another reason to kill him added to Patrick's list.

 

"Aw Trick, sweetie, there's no need to be afraid." Gabe coos, reaching over to pet Patrick's face, Patrick stares with the most deadpan expression he can muster, "Do you want to die?"

 

Gabe raises his hands in surrender, "I don't think that hair color matches that fiery attitude."

 

"Insert cricket noises here." Patrick grumbles, stomping through the front door, "Lets go to Joe's room." He says, before getting a good look at his surroundings. "Holy shit." His jaw drops, forget a hundred people, add four hundred, "If we can even make it in there." Ryan mutters, Brendon scoffs, "I'm used to this, follow me."

 

And for some odd reason they do, and Patrick makes it out with only one crushed foot and an eye full of elbow.

 

Squinting, unshed tears form around the edge of his eye and, ouch that's painful, time to make a list of his injuries just from today.

 

They open the door to the bedroom, vision met with a circle of guys hanging out, Joe looks up with a mischievous grin...That can't be good.

 

"Patrick!" He stands up, clutching onto the arm of a poor unfortunate soul, Joe pulls him up and hauls him over to where Patrick's standing, "Patrick Meet Pete, Pete meet Patrick!" He smiles wide, gesturing his hands to one another.

 

Patrick stares, taking in the sight of medium length black hair, thick framed glasses hiding a pair of eyes that are a lovely shade of brown, a baggy sweater smothered by a coat, too many teeth and, oh god.

 

Familiar, no wonder...So that's who Pete is.

 

Pete's eyes widen when they land on him and they both freeze.

 

Patrick's blood goes cold, well, it matches his personality, at least that's what this guy thinks of him, from their horribly timed meeting, which is his fault, he's not always an asshole, just...He has his moments, okay?

 

Joe clears his throat, "Are you guys okay?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

 

Patrick's the first to break out of the frosty exterior, "Yes! yeah, I'm fine." He coughs out, turning red, "Um, hi it's nice to meet you Pete." He says, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket.

 

Pete continues to stare at him for a few seconds before ducking his head and mumbling out, "Nice to meet you too."

 

And now Patrick feels like complete shit, he just met this guy and he already hates him.

 

Joe narrows his eyes at them, "Well, come sit down then." He says slowly as he walks back to the circle, and Pete goes to follow suit but, Patrick grabs at his wrist, causing him to squeak, Patrick quickly shushes him, "Look, I'm really sorry for the train incident, I was having a shitty day and you know..I'm really sorry." He whispers hastily.

 

Patrick needs to at least try to mend this already broken communication.

 

Pete blinks at him, before giving a small smile, okay it's not much but, it's something, Patrick can work with this, "It's okay." Pete murmurs, pulling his wrist gently, hinting that he wants Patrick to let go, which he does.

 

"Okay, cool, rad." Patrick rambles, stopping when Pete lets out a soft giggle and aw..Cute.

 

_Wait what, no you're not allowed to call a guy who's probably still afraid of you cute, slow that simmer, Patrick._

 

_...But this could be interesting._

 


	6. Those Seven Minutes Are Gonna Be The Death Of Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick's pretty sure he wants to die, he's come to sudden realization that Pete Wentz is an adorable human being and he's at a high risk of being infatuated with the introverted boy, yet once you get to know him, he's not so shy, or quiet for that matter, he's a tiny bundle of noise, loud braying laughs, throw in several toothy smiles, Patrick even scored a few, it didn't at all make his head feel woozy, or his heart pound rapidly, nope..He'd never admit it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy<3

Patrick's pretty sure he wants to die, he's come to sudden realization that Pete Wentz is an adorable human being and he's at a high risk of being infatuated with the introverted boy, yet once you get to know him, he's not so shy, or quiet for that matter, he's a tiny bundle of noise, loud braying laughs, throw in several toothy smiles, Patrick even scored a few, it didn't at all make his head feel woozy, or his heart pound rapidly, nope..He'd never admit it anyway.

 

Pete's loud, and obnoxious, with a blinding smile, and Patrick can't help but find every attribute of his endearing, he's never been good with feeling like this or even really skillful with words, which doesn't end well when he tries to flirt with people he's attracted to, it usually just ends up with him coming off as creepy and getting shunned, once again he's a puddle of failure.

 

He got lucky with his previous relationship, or should he say unlucky, that relationship ended in flames, literally, there's a reason why Patrick's wardrobe consists of only hoodies.

 

It's rather absurd that Patrick's the one who got hurt and the one who ended up with property damage, if anyone it should've been him setting the others belongings ablaze, though he's a little too high and mighty for that, besides he doesn't need that in an article...He can't even imagine how that would turn out.

 

Rolling his eyes, he tries to angle his attention back to reality instead of his deranged mind.

 

They've been wasting time in Joe's room for about an hour, Patrick's fairly sure he just heard a shriek and something shatter, but that's just Joe's parties for you, a vast amount of people have actually left, probably to finish the night off with a miserable one night stand, He's been there before.

 

Pete and him are actually hitting it off, Well, that's what he thinks, Pete could definitely be pretending to like him and Patrick would have no clue, his confidence level is questionable..

 

Nevertheless Pete's someone who interests Patrick, and hopefully he can gain a phone number by the end of the night, whether they become friends or something more.

 

Patrick swallows hard at the thought, head dizzy, and stomach warmer than usual but, that could just be the two bottles of beer Joe talked him into drinking half an hour ago, "Loosen up." He'd said, fuckin' peer pressure, Patrick thought that shit ended after high school, he doesn't even like beer god damn it, ironically enough he discovered this little fact at a party when he was sixteen, he also doesn't handle alcohol very well, it just makes him feel more drained than usual, then again he's always tired.

 

Patrick sighs, eyelids drooping, while he stretches his legs, he probably should've told Joe that beer doesn't make him loosen up but, instead drowsy, he makes an attempt to hold back a yawn, yet failing miserably.

 

He covers his mouth as a reflex to muffle said yawn, eyes watering. Pete gives him an odd expression, "Trick, you alright?" Voice wavering slightly, as he nudges Patrick's shoulder.

 

Patrick nods, lips curling into a small smile. If Pete's somewhat worried about him, he's on the right track, at least y'know, he thinks.

 

"I'm fine, just a little exhausted." He answers, bumping his arm into Pete's, Pete grins, opening his mouth to reply, though no sound has the chance to depart because Brendon so kindly interrupts, "You guys are boring as shit, can we like..Do something?"

 

"Something?" Gabe echos, "Like what?" He asks, Brendon hums, giving what Patrick thinks is probably the weirdest thinking face he's ever seen before. Throwing his arms up in the air, Brendon says "I have the greatest idea of all great ideas, 'cause it's great like me." He grins, wiggling his feet in excitement.

 

Patrick frowns, "Oh really? Do tell." He's rather skeptical, because well, it's Brendon, can you blame him?

 

"Spin the bottle!" He declares, grinning like he's a genius. Andy shuts his eyes, bringing a hand up to his forehead.

 

"That is the utmost cliche thing you could've come up with." Patrick groans, it's not that bad but, he'd rather not kiss any these idiots, okay..Maybe Pete, probably not, that would be extremely awkward or maybe Pete would want Patrick to kiss him..Among other things.

 

Patrick shifts at that, he should've worn looser jeans. Brendon whines, "Come on, it will be fun." He promises, clasping his hands together, before fluttering his eyelashes.

 

Gabe shrugs, "s'not my decision." He slurs and, Patrick didn't realize how drunk everyone is, he's not though, doesn't think Pete is either, he switches his gaze from Brendon to Pete to get a good look, just to be sure...Not like he's checking Pete out, he would never.

 

After a quick look of inspection, Patrick concludes that Pete is definitely wasted, his face is flushed, glasses crooked and tiny hiccup like giggles escaping his mouth every few moments, Patrick shouldn't find any of it cute, but he sort of does and, if Pete would stop being an exception to every one of his rules, he might make it out alive tonight.

 

Pete lays down, back making contact with the floor, forearms crossed above his head and legs spread to a considerable amount.

 

At this Patrick's mouth runs dry, his breath suddenly leaving him, and he's never wearing skinny jeans again.

 

A soft noise erupts from Pete's throat, craning his neck to glance at Patrick, he gives the same toothy grin Patrick can't get enough of.

 

Patrick's just about to do something he'll regret, before Joe interrupts saying "Nah, let's just play truth or dare or something."

 

"I haven't played truth or dare since I was like, fourteen." Patrick mutters, trying to take his mind off the sight of a sprawled Pete Wentz on the floor, he just met this guy an hour ago for the love of god.

 

"Can we just make a choice already, seriously guys." Andy sighs, Joe waves him off, "It's fine, wait, seven minutes in heaven!" He claps his hands together, Brendon thrusts his finger at him, "Yes, I second this."

 

No, no, no. Patrick is fully against this, "Let's not." He says, face pulled into a grimace.

 

Brendon scoffs, "Come on Patrick, do it for Guppy." He says, muffling a snort of laughter into his hand. Patrick gasps loudly, eyes wide, " _Guppy would be on my side and you know it!_ " He yells, slamming his fist against the floor.

 

"Who the fuck is Guppy?" Pete asks, sitting up, eyebrows furrowed.

 

"Funny story-" Gabe begins before getting cut off by Patrick, "It's not fucking funny, asshole." He growls, upper lip pulling back into a twisted snarl.

 

"Uh, never mind, I don't think I wanna know." Pete mumbles, fidgeting, "Lets just play it, why not?" He suggests, face going a shade darker, when his gaze locks with Patrick's.

 

Patrick tries to glare but, he can't, fuck. Pete's lips quirk into a tiny grin and Patrick mirrors it without thinking, he barely knows the guy and he's practically tripping over his own feet.

 

Crossing his arms, he huffs out, "Fine." Brendon cheers, "Little Pete, you're a miracle worker." Gabe nods his head in agreement.

 

"M'not little and I am a miracle, please." Pete responds, slowly standing up and Patrick decides to copy his movements.

 

Pete sways slightly, yelping when he falls into Patrick's chest, fortunately for Pete Patrick catches him, unfortunately for Patrick now Pete's pressing against his chest, with his head buried into Patrick's shoulder, Pete makes a muffled noise, "What?" He asks, gently moving Pete off of him, "I said thanks." Pete repeats, continuing to sway.

 

"Uh, no problem." Patrick says, placing his hands on Pete's shoulders, steadying him, Pete giggles bringing his hands up to cup Patrick's face, before proceeding to nuzzle his nose against Patrick's and okay, what is happening?

 

Patrick pulls away immediately, for obvious reasons. "Okay, lets start the game now, please." He croaks, "Oh yes, I'm so ready." Brendon responds, wiggling more.

 

"You're a little too eager to be in a closet with one of us." Patrick mutters, crossing his arms.

 

"Think of all the evil things he could do to you." Gabe grins, making Patrick narrow his eyes, "Don't you mean, what I could do?"

 

Brendon freezes in his movements, sighing, he says, "I'm gonna end up dead in that closet."

 

Patrick smirks darkly, "I'm not really in a killing mood right now, so you're lucky."

 

"I'm sure." Brendon rolls his eyes, snapping his fingers, he continues, "Patrick we're gonna need your hat."

 

"What, no, no way." Patrick refuses, quickly moving his arms to clutch onto his hat protectively. Brendon begins to protest but, stops when Gabe comments, "Why don't we just use a bottle?" Squinting his eyes, he adds, "We don't even have paper."

 

Brendon pauses for a second, "Oh." He stares at the wall for a longer amount of time than necessary if Patrick's one to judge, he's literally starting to wonder if everyone's high except for him.

 

"'Kay." Brendon finally murmurs, "Who has a bottle?" He asks, looking around the room, "Who the fuck doesn't?" Patrick retorts, picking up his recently downed beer, "Here." Patrick hands over said bottle, before jolting when Brendon fumbles, bottle almost slipping through his fingertips,

 

"Don't drop it! oh my god, Brendon." Patrick squawks, taking his beanie off to whack Brendon in the face, okay, he might be a little more drunk then he previously anticipated.

 

A braying laugh echos throughout the room and, Patrick may or may not let a wide grin form across his face.

 

"Just for that you're going first Patrick." Brendon teases, placing the bottle in the middle of them, Patrick scowls, "Cry me an ocean." He grumbles, moving to sit down next to Pete.

 

Pete snickers, "'Cause a river ain't good enough." Patrick hums in agreement, "Exactly."

 

"Alright, Patrick, spin the damn bottle already." Gabe complains, impatient much? "Yeah, yeah." Patrick waves him off, moving his hand to turn the bottle a tad, "Alright Patrick, can you at least try."

 

"Eh."

 

"Patrick."

 

Patrick didn't even want to play, damn it, exhaling loudly, he finally exerts force onto the bottle, spinning it with ease.

 

Patrick's not in the mood for this shit, this is a lose-lose situation for him, every outcome to this is terrifying, whether it lands on a close friend...Or Pete.

 

Patrick's really not the type to take advantage of people, so if it does indeed end up being Pete, he's just gonna brush it off, put on a brave face and take it like the puddle of failure he is...What if Pete makes a move though? What will he do?

 

He's just gonna have to reject him, it doesn't matter what he wants, Pete's not himself right now, and he won't do that to him.

 

Whatever it won't be Pete, it better not be him, he'll take Gabe trying and of course failing to grope him in a small space over Pete doing it, for one thing he can actually resist Gabe, probably knee him in the crotch if he has to.

 

Shaking his head, he focuses his head back onto the currently accelerating bottle.

 

It's not gonna be him.

 

Everyone hollers wildly when the bottle comes to a stop...Pointing directly at Pete,  _God fuckin' damn it._

 

_Just his luck._

 

"Alright boys, in the closet you go." Andy says, a ghost of a smirk residing on his face, and Patrick silently fumes, standing up, he stomps over to the closet, swinging the door open, he grits his teeth before reluctantly stepping in.

 

He circles his gaze around the dark space, jumping when Pete slides in, almost slipping, "Whoa, Pete, do you even know how to walk?" He laughs, gripping Pete by the hips, Pete looks at him, eyes dark behind glasses, he grins turning slightly to close the door.

 

" _Seven minutes guys!_ " The others shout loudly, Patrick raises an eyebrow, "Right." He clears his throat, when Pete faces him again.

 

"So-" Patrick begins, before a yelp escapes him as Pete locks his arms tight around his neck, tugging him closer, "Pete, no."

 

"Why not?" Pete juts his bottom lip out, and Patrick would really like to suck it into his mouth but, like he said, no taking advantage, Pete has no idea what he's doing, Patrick does.

 

Patrick breaks out of Pete's grip swiftly, at this he accidentally falls on his ass, making a harsh impact with the flooring, and he's pretty sure he landed on a hanger, he groans in pain, and scoots off whatever's poking him in the thigh.

 

Pete covers his mouth, clearly trying to hold in a laugh, Patrick glares daggers at him, "Don't you dare."

 

"M'sorry." Pete chokes out, voice dissolving into high pitched giggles, Patrick sighs, closing his eyes.

 

A few minutes pass by of him just suffering through Pete's laughter and, yeah it sounds really nice and, if he's honest, it almost sounds like music to his ears.

 

Then it disappears, complete silence filling the room, he's beginning to question whether Pete's still alive or if he died from laughing too hard.

 

He lets out a grunt when he feels a weight drop into his lap, snapping his eyes open, he's now aware that there's a tipsy Pete sitting on top of him, "Pete what are you doing?" He asks, lips set into a firm line.

 

"Mm, m'not doing anything, just wanna cuddle." Pete says quietly, burying his face into Patrick's neck, a delighted noise escaping him when Patrick doesn't protest.

 

Patrick slowly brings his hand up to comb his fingers delicately throughout Pete's hair.

 

"What am I gonna do with you." He says under his breath, chuckling faintly.

 

His eyes widen when Pete's breathing evens and light snores fill the room, are you serious?

 

He's now stuck under a tiny package of nerd, and he doesn't know what to do, well he's not necessarily taking advantage of anyone...Right?

 

At least that's what he thinks, until Pete begins to slip down his body, head landing on top of his thigh, "Oh god." He whispers, trying to slide out from under Pete, without waking him up and this is impossible, fuck.

 

He continues to twist underneath Pete, until a loud group of voices yell, " _Times up!_ " And the door swings open, light switch being flipped and,  _oh no._

 

Pete's somehow still asleep, and Patrick's bright red, face scrunched up in embarrassment, he knows how this looks and Pete's face totally appears to be in his crotch, shit.

 

Everyone's just staring at him, with shocked faces and dropped jaws.

 

He gulps, letting out a nervous chuckle, before saying, "Uh..It's not what it looks like?"

 


	7. In Which Patrick's A Blue Jay, And Pete's Still Drunk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although it's dark, Patrick can still make out a tiny little lump of covers in the middle of the room, curled into a ball. Patrick lets a small grin form on his face, cute. He circles around to the other side of the bed, to shake Pete slightly, "Pete, Pete?" A soft murmur of "Nooo.." sounds, The ball immediately rolling over and coiling tighter. Patrick stifles a laugh, prodding at the small of Pete's back, "Come on Pete." He says, "I just gotta check whether you're dying or not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)))

As of now Patrick is currently picking up stray beer bottles around the house, which is very lame might he add, if you asked him he'd say he's helping Joe and Andy out by cleaning up some of the mess in result of the party, but in truth Patrick really only stayed back to make sure Pete was alright.

 

After the whole "Pete's not trying to give me a blowjob Jesus fucking Christ guys, he's not even conscious." ordeal, and everyone trying to take fucking pictures with their phones in memory, he really needs new friends.

 

He sighs and glances around the room, it is absolutely horrendous there's no way he can clean up all of this by himself, Andy's helping him somewhat but this is not a two people task it seems it's more of an 8 people job.

 

Unfortunately for them, everyone is passed out in Joe's room, well Pete's in the guest room, which reminds him he's gotta go check on him. Andy told him too, but in truth he's wanted to since they dragged Pete in there.

 

But y'know that's only because he's such a great friend.

 

Patrick whirls around and quickly stomps up the stairs, Andy comes into view passed out on a couch, shit, Andy's his ride home, he tried to decline the suggestion, and just drive by himself, but Andy laughed and said, "If we don't drive you you'll be late on purpose or you probably wont even show up, coming up with a stupid excuse about how you got kidnapped by a fan or some shit."

 

Patrick's never been kidnapped, he's come close though, almost didn't notice that fizzing in his drink. He shudders as a grimace twists upon his face, well technically that's not a fan, it's a maniac.

 

He huffs an angry breath, well now he's stuck here for the night, gritting his teeth, he strides over to the guest room containing a still under the influence Pete, maybe...maybe not, Patrick's not too sure whether Pete's sober yet or not, time to find out?

 

He grips the doorknob, biting his lip, he reluctantly turns it and slowly pushes the door open.

 

Although it's dark, Patrick can still make out a tiny little lump of covers in the middle of the room, curled into a ball. Patrick lets a small grin form on his face,  _cute._  He circles around to the other side of the bed, to shake Pete slightly, "Pete, Pete?" A soft murmur of " _Nooo.._ " sounds, The ball immediately rolling over and coiling tighter. Patrick stifles a laugh, prodding at the small of Pete's back, "Come on Pete." He says, "I just gotta check whether you're dying or not."

 

Pete slowly sits up, turning to glare at Patrick with puffed out cheeks and crossed arms, Patrick's grin widens, Pete looks just like a furious little kitten and Patrick's pondering whether he should voice this little detail to purposely rile him up or be nice and keep quiet.

 

That is until Pete opens his mouth to retort, "I'm alive, yeah. Despite the sensation in my head as if it's exploding." He mopes, bottom lip jutted out.

 

Patrick's heart flutters, "Do you need someth-" He tries to say, but Pete shakes his head quickly. "No...then you'll leave."

 

"But I'll be right back." Patrick points out in a quiet voice, fidgeting slightly, while his face obtains a reddish tint, why doesn't Pete want him to leave?

 

"Yeah, but then I'll be alone, I don't wanna be." Pete says, the gleam in his eyes dulling, "I don't like being alone."

 

The fluttering of Patrick's heart instantly turns into a painful ache and he frowns, tilting his head, "Pete?" He asks, gently laying a hand on the others shoulder.

 

Pete's sulky expression flips and turns into a beam and hands begin to grab at Patrick's shoulders, tugging him into the bed.

 

Patrick yelps, trying to resist and wrestle out of the grip, Pete's clearly not quite sober yet and he's fairly worried about what Pete's trying do, "Pete,  _what are you-_ " and that's all that manages to escape him before he makes impact into the sheets.

 

Patrick lifts his head to scowl at Pete, dirty look evaporating when he notices Pete giggling, he seriously cannot win with this guy.

 

He rolls his eyes, twisting to lie on his back, "You're an ass by the way." Pete nods, "I have a great one too." He teases, crawling over to curl up on Patrick's chest. "You know we just met, right?" Patrick asks, quirking an eyebrow. Pete hums, "Yeah but I like you." He says, "Like, really like you.."

 

Patrick swallows hard, moving to wrap his arms around Pete, "Okay." He croaks, hesitantly sliding one hand up from Pete's back to comb his fingers gently through soft hair, resulting in Pete letting out a light purr. "You are literally a cat." Patrick comments, then proceeds to let out a quiet snort of laughter when Pete glances up at him, cheeks puffed out again, though they're somewhat reddened this time.

 

"Well if I'm such a cat.." Pete trails off creeping his hand over to claw at Patrick's chest. "Me doing this is normal." He grins, digging his fingers in. Patrick's face screws up in pain, "Why the fuck are your nails so long?" He asks, slapping Pete's hand away, wait a second. "Are they painted black?"

 

Pete smothers a laugh into Patrick's shoulder, warm breath fanning over his neck, which tickles--like a lot, "O-okay, enough of that." Patrick says, sliding out from under Pete. The other whines at the lack of skin on skin contact, "Triiicky..." Pete pouts again, "Cuddle." He demands, clasping his hands together, wiggling slightly, as he purposely peers up at Patrick through eyelashes.

 

"Pete, no." Patrick refuses, shaking his head. Pete huffs heatedly before turning over to lie on his side, "Fine, I'll just give my cuddles over to the cushions, then." He grumbles, nose wrinkled, which is kind of cute--but that's not the point.

 

"Pete." Patrick sighs, "Come on man, stop acting immature." He probably should've expected this, Pete's still tipsy and Patrick really didn't think he guzzled down this much..Though he wasn't actually keeping track.

 

Pete whimpers softly into the pillow, "I'm not immature, I just wanna cuddle.." Patrick's currently having a war with himself at the moment, cuddle or or not to cuddle, what are the pros and cons, oh god, what would happen when Pete woke up completely sober and wondering why there's the chest of Patrick Stump against his back.

 

Patrick finally breaks when Pete shifts slightly and murmurs "I'm cold--you should warm me up, it would be a nice thing to do...You're nice right?"

 

"I try." Patrick says, dropping his head in defeat, he lies back down and shifts to *carefully* place an arm around Pete's waist, curling around him gently. Pete hums, wriggling against Patrick to get comfortable--unintentionally rubbing against Patrick's crotch.

 

Patrick unconsciously tightens his grip, stalling Pete's movements. A confused sound emits from Pete's throat. "What's wrong?" He asks, craning his neck to glance at Patrick, eyebrows furrowed.

 

"Nothing!" Patrick squeaks out, "I'm fine, let's just..Uh, sleep, yeah sleep." Pete's lips quirk into a small grin, before he shrugs and turns around, attempting to get comfortable again, which Patrick has to endure through painfully, he puts on a brave face and withstands it.

 

When Pete finally stills, Patrick sighs in relief and settles his chin into the crook of Pete's shoulder, closing his eyes while his breath comes out in soft little puffs.

 

He's half asleep, when a small action jostles the bed making him crack open an eye. "Pete?" He tries to ask, though being almost unconscious makes it a challenge and it ends up coming out as more of a "Pffet?"

 

Lips press against his cheek and both of his eyes snap wide open, but Pete's already laid back down, breath even--asleep? Or is he faking? Patrick narrows his eyes, frowning, something's amiss but he's not gonna question it right now, 'cause he's tired as fuck.

 

He makes the choice to snuggle back into Pete, eventually falling asleep, although the embarrassment of the situation still gnawing at the back of his mind.

 

He doesn't dream a thing that night, his brain being the black abyss he'll never truly acknowledge.

-

Patrick wakes up to a lean body squirming against him and he's really not enjoying the rather defined spine prodding into his chest, "Pete?" He asks, getting no response in return, Pete's breath is stuttering, body trembling as he claws at the sheets.

 

"Pete, hey, Pete wake up." Patrick says, shaking Pete's shoulder hard, but not too hard, he doesn't wanna break the poor guy. Patrick's pretty sure Pete's having a nightmare, that is until a shaky moan sounds, and okay, what the _fuck?_ The guy he kind of has an infatuation with  _kind of_  --is currently having a wet dream not even a foot away from him.

 

Well Patrick can't be too sure if it's a wet dream or not, that could've been a moan of terror--Is that even a thing? Whatever, Pete might just be freaking out and he's worrying for nothing.

 

But then an ass grinds against him and a whimper erupts from Pete's throat, and fuck, what do you do in a situation like this? Well, Patrick has no idea, so being the dumb ass he is he shrieks and falls back, right out of the bed and face first into the floor with a loud thud.

 

Pete's still asleep however, rubbing up against the bed and Patrick's mind is shorting out, he's fallen out of a bed twice in less than twenty four hours and he's really irritated by that tiny fact, but more so annoyed by the erection beginning to form in his jeans, pushing up against the rough material and no that does not feel nice, please stop it, why is his body against him?

 

Patrick lets out a ragged breath, standing up in a swift motion, so fast his brain struggles to comply and his vision begins to spot and black out for a few seconds, almost collapsing he crosses the room, ignoring the small noises escaping Pete, he needs to leave right now, needs to get out, get out, get out!

 

With these thoughts Patrick's normal pace turns into brisk jog which develops into a sprinting run and now he's in the position of fleeing out of the room as quick as he can, almost stumbling down the stairs in his haste.

 

Joe comes into his line of vision, frozen with a mug of coffee, he's staring at him with raised eyebrows. "Dude you practically flew down those stairs." He says, and slowly takes in a small sip of coffee.

 

Patrick shifts his weight uneasily. "I'm a blue jay didn't you know?" He jokes awkwardly, giving an abnormal laugh, his body unnaturally twitching along with every heave.

 

"Uh, are you okay?" Joe asks, looking at him as if he's grown a second head. The strange laugh leaves him again and he scratches the back of his head, realizing he's somehow misappropriated his necessary headgear, he swears inaudibly, glaring at the floor. He's gonna have to go back to the bedroom and grab his hat, must have fell off when he was sleeping or when he collided with the floor, he's not going in there now though, definitely not now.

 

Patrick snaps his attention back into reality when he hears a light impatient tapping of the foot echoing from Joe. He gives a wide smile, trying to hide the fact that he's actually crying on the inside, it's probably coming across as creepy, fuck.

 

Patrick tones down the semblance of serial killer a notch, before chirping out "Just peachy!" And okay he never chirps in the morning, he's so screwed..Well he's apparently a bird now, isn't he?

 

Joe's face screws up into a skeptical frown. "Well aren't you..chipper..."

 

Oh shit, he's without a doubt screwed to high heaven.

 

More nervous laughter spills from his mouth before he can prevent it, "Yeah, just--y'know feeling relaxed, for the first time in a while." He lies, and no it wasn't at all smooth, color him shocked if Joe believes a word he's said.

 

His previous line could not be more wrong, quite the opposite really, he hasn't felt this anxious and on edge since his first date with a pretty little blonde he was surprised even spoke to him. The event didn't actually turn out very well, it was like his tongue kept fading in and out of existence and it ended up with him making a fool out of himself, embarrassment is something he's familiar with.

 

Sixteen year old him literally had no game--Well, he still doesn't have any game, unless you count faking it till you make it with the false confidence he's accumulated over the years.

 

Joe gives him an odd look, eyes sparking with confusion. "Okay, I know it's been like a year, but what?" He asks, concern evident in his tone. Damn it, why can't he be a good liar and why can't Joe care less?

 

Patrick shakes his head, blue hair flailing loosely. "Don't worry about it man, s'not a big deal." He says, "I just need some of what you have." Joe tilts his head, hinting at Patrick to elaborate.

 

Patrick points at the mug of coffee, still giving off a slight steam. Joe nods, "Kitchen." He informs, a grin crossing his face and Patrick waves his hand, rolling his eyes. "'Cause I didn't know that." He teases, "I'm pretty sure it was originally in the bathtub."

 

Patrick begins his journey on to the kitchen but Joe aims to kick him the ass, though he ends up striking him in the thigh. Patrick spins around to counter the assault, thus leading them into a leg war, until Andy comes out telling them to knock it the fuck off.

 

Patrick skips into the kitchen following the scent of the precious coffee he so so desires and desperately needs, letting out a loud snort when he sees three boys looking like death itself. "You guys okay?" He smirks, the only response being a rough grumble of fuck you. Rude.

 

He pours a mug of coffee, just about to take a sip when Pete enters the room and he chokes slightly on oxygen, Pete looks completely miserable, eyes downcast to the tile, fidgeting with his hands, while his face flushed and body coated with a thin layer of sweat. His clothes wrinkled and disheveled, almost as if they're inside out..maybe they are?

 

Pete glances up, their gazes locking, Pete's reddened cheeks seem to intensify eyes glimmering with something Patrick can't put a name to, Pete quickly averts his gaze over to the guys and scampers over to the table, sitting in the chair next to Gabe.

 

The room is silent for a few moments before Patrick's small footsteps sound as he treads lightly over to the table, sitting across from Pete.

 

"Hey." He says, lips curling into a thin smile, sure it's awkward but it's not a big deal, everyone has wet dreams right? So what if he rubbed up against Patrick, that's fine--He'll be fine--He's super fine.

 

Pete jolts, eyes wide, body visibly shaking, and Patrick's not really sure what he did to make Pete react like this.

 

"H-hi." Pete mumbles, lowering his gaze to stare at the surface of the table as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever laid eyes on, yep, something's up.

 

"You okay?" Patrick asks, muffled into his cup as he savors the glorious liquid, coffee has become his go to option since he turned nineteen, sleep is still number one though, always..just unrealistic.

 

Pete's quiet for a moment, before looking back up, and nodding his head. "M'just sorry about last night." Patrick's breath deserts him, coming out more as a hushed choked off noise, wait, oh god, does he remem--"I don't really know what I did, but I'm sure it was ridiculous." Well, yeah.

 

Patrick smiles in order to make Pete relax, it sort of works, if you count Pete actually being able to look at him.

 

"It's alright, we all did stupid shit." Patrick waves him off, "it's nothing."

 

It's completely something and he's a giant fucking liar. he raises himself into a straighter posture, giving an innocent grin, he's not hiding anything, he's an angel, believe it--please.

 

"Thanks, man." Pete breathes, beaming, and wow, there's that flutter again. He ponders on whether he's actually a bird or not, thoughts interrupted when Pete clears his throat. "So..What would you say if I told you I think we should start over--there's a place down the road..For like, breakfast." He'd say fuck yes.

 

"Yeah, yes, that sounds like a rad idea." He says, practically glowing. "Rad-ish." Gabe mutters, scrolling through his phone, making Ryan stifle a laugh, and for a few blissful minutes Patrick forgot they existed, it was nice while it lasted.

 

Patrick rolls his eyes and returns back to his coffee. Pete ignores them, his finger tapping out a strange rhythm against the table, as he opens his mouth to continue. "Uh--Is now okay?" Now is absolutely perfect.

 

Patrick nods quickly, standing up to pour what's left of his coffee into the sink. "Yeah, great actually." He rinses out the cup, 'cause he ain't no freeloader.

 

He turns around, and Pete's already stood up, walking towards him. "Well, great--Lets go?" He makes a noise of agreement before following Pete out, yelling out their goodbyes as they retreat out of the house and break into a sprint, running down the sidewalk, somehow turning into a race.

 

Patrick wins with a landslide, which actually means he slipped and tripped through the double doors of the diner and Pete's braying laugh plays throughout his eardrums, this guy needs to stop, before Patrick ends up jumping him or something.

 

He halfheartedly shoves Pete in the shoulder, Pete mimics his actions, and then a shoving match between them ensues as they tumble their way over to a booth, Pete gets the last push in, resulting in him falling into the seat. "Oops." Pete says, holding back a laugh, and Patrick gets an unpleasant memory flashing through his head of last night--or pleasant--who knows? Certainly not him.

 

Pete sits across from him, grinning wide, and sweet, Pete's comfortable, he's got this, kind of, whatever.

 

He shifts from his previously sprawled status into a more suitable position. "So you're sorry about last night, and I'm sorry for the train incident, so like-- _we're even?_ " Pete nods. "Now we're even, and we never bring it up again."

 

Pete's glasses are balancing on the tip of his nose as he leans forward, eyes glistening with intensity, "Never again." Patrick imitates the intense stare, making Pete's serious stature crack and he muffles a small snort into his hand.

Patrick jiggles his leg, smirking lightly at Pete, it's almost bizarre how easy it is for him to talk to this guy.

 

Patrick's about to say something similar to his thoughts, however a waitress comes over interrupting him, a big wide shiny grin stretches out her face, and her eyes widen ever so slightly when they lay upon Patrick, wait, he bites his lip in realization, he completely blanked on returning his hat to his head, to hide the obvious blue color, well, he's screwed once again.

 

Though, he must of struck luck today, because she didn't say a word, just took their orders and went on to the next table.

 

The only time Patrick's ever lucky usually ends with something bad happening in the near future, only time will tell. He's taught himself not to care, for once in his life.

 

"I can't believe you ordered pizza, it's like eight am." Patrick says. "Seriously, dude."

 

Pete scoffs at him, bending over somewhat to flick him playfully on the nose. "It's never too early for pizza." Patrick's inclined to agree.

 

This leads them on to an entire conversation on reasons why pizza is one of the most important things in life, and how if Pete could, he'd eat it for every meal.

 

"You should write a book about it." Patrick says, munching on a piece of toast. Pete gives him a soft smile. "Planning on it."

 

"Good." He grins, "Don't let them tell you, you can't" Pete laughs, "You sound like Gabe." Patrick gives him a horrified look. "Oh god, no, shoot me right now."

 

"Nah, then life will be a little less entertaining, we need the little blue jay that you are." Pete declares, prodding him in the wrist with a finger. His ears begin to turn a slight red out of embarrassment. "Oh god, you heard that."

 

"Heard what?"

 

"Oh." Seems Pete makes the same horrible jokes as him, they were literally made for each other--Shit, Patrick sounds like an obsessed thirteen old with a crush, basically him in high school, which was only two years ago, so.

 

"Nothing, not important." Patrick responds, a tad bit late, shrugging his shoulders. Pete narrows his eyes, in an attempt to look like he knows more then he lets on. " _Suuure..._ "

 

Patrick pokes him in the hand with a butter knife, "Don't yousure me, buttercup."

 

"Buttercup..?" Pete asks, an eyebrow raised and Patrick tosses a slice of toast at him, but y'know nicely. Pete gives him a dirty look, slapping him with a napkin.

 

"Yes, buttercup." He answers, snatching the napkin to wipe the table of the several bread crumbs.

 

"'Kay, then." Pete giggles, almost spilling his orange juice with the motion, but Patrick's reflexes prevail--for once in his life and he avoids the scenario of "breakfast" covered orange juice or orange juice with a side of "breakfast".

 

Patrick and Pete finish their meals--slowly--but eventually and they make the decision to exchange phone numbers, and Patrick's pretty sure they somehow just became best friends in the matter of an hour, but that could just be him, at least that's what he thinks, right before a small figure latches onto him in a tight hug as he's about to climb into the car so Andy can drive him home.

 

"Nice meeting you, Pattycakes."

 

Patrick groans, sighing, he says, "You too buttercup." He hugs back shortly, before letting go, and hopping his way into the car.

 

He's definitely gonna contact Pete, probably tomorrow, he doesn't wanna seem like he's desperate and that's literally the exact moment when his phone dings, and it's a text from the nerd himself, are you actually kidding?

 

-Texin u 1st so its not awk for the nex day.-

 

What an idiot, a lovable idiot.

 

**_Love._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)))


	8. Another Man Crush Calls For Another Heartbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT'S BEING BROUGHT BACK!
> 
> Did you guess?
> 
> I mean it's pretty obvious.
> 
> PUNK PATRICK AND NERD PETE.
> 
> And some other idiots, whatevs.
> 
> Short chap tho, starting off slow, but they'll get longer as I continue...Hopefully.

Patrick's in a predicament at the moment, contemplating, pondering over how forward it would be to actually admit those certain...emotions, yeah lets go with that, emotions gnawing at the back of his brain.

 

You see, Patrick's got an infatuation with a certain fucking nerd and yeah, it's pretty obvious who it is. Crystal fucking clear honestly.

 

It's been a few months since that dreadful and unfortunate meeting. Patrick's pretty sure he made up for it though, he bought Pete pizza, that's like the best thing you could do--for Pete that is. Him accepting Patrick's apology was automatic, lets just put it that way.

 

"Brendon, what the fuck do I even do?" And the only response Patrick obtains is Brendon giving him a lazy shrug. "Wow, you're so helpful, any more wisdom for me Dumbledore?"

 

"I don't understand how people think you're intimidating." Patrick snorts at that, what a marvel it is truly that a guy who's short--yeah he's admitting it, and has the last name of "Stump" is petrifying, how hilarious. Patrick's in tears, but y'know spiritually.

 

Patrick repeated Brendon's motion, shrugging and grimacing at the same time. "Maybe it's the metal lodged into my face, or the fact that I'm sheathed in tattoos, or--"

 

"The constant hats you wear, or like those ridiculous baggy hoodies, seriously dude..." And okay, insulting Patrick's sweatshirts...is just something...that you _don't_ do, because well... _rude._

 

"I think you're jealous," Patrick says, while bunching the cotton material in his palms. Crooning softly in assurance that yes, his hoodies are perfection in every single way possible...and Brendon can go off and fuck himself sideways with a fork.

 

"Ouch."

 

"So, are you gonna help me or....?--actually I'll just go to Andy, hopefully that cotton candy ordeal is done and forever forgotten."

 

Brendon's jaw drops at that, and then he smacks a hand precisely to the middle of his chest in offense. "I am heart broken you'd say that, you don't even know--"

 

"Exactly, don't tell me," Patrick waves him off, squinting his eyes for a moment, he continues, "All I know is that it was so obviously your fault."

 

Brendon's nostrils flared in fury and his fingers clenched, digging into the wooden table.

 

"Okay, you want to know what happened, what happened was--" And then a phone rings...that's just so typical, Brendon just not turning the sound off to his own phone, like honestly what a douchba--oh it's his phone, whoops.

 

"Oh," Patrick mumbles, staring at the name aligned across his phone from a text message. Brendon's eyebrows furrow and he leans over to catch a glance, and now he's laughing, at Patrick, does he want to die? Patrick thinks so.

 

"Really dude? You made his contact 'Buttercup'," and it's not a question, it's a fucking accusation. Patrick's none too comfortable with this situation. "Fuck you, I saw Ryan's contact, glitter? How lame, seriously--"

 

"I bet Pete would be hot in glitter..." Brendon murmurs, a grin curling upon his face, wide and very distasteful for Patrick in particular. "You have a boyfriend," Patrick points out and Brendon shrugs,  _again._

 

"Ryan might be down for a threesome, I mean--"

 

"I'm gonna stop you right there, no."

 

"But--"

 

"No, and if I have to say no one more time, your favorite coffee mug is gonna be in shards and pieces, like the bones to your jaw if you keep this shit up." Patrick hisses and Brendon raises his hands up in surrender. "I think I understand now why people think you're scary."

 

"That's a relief, how far do I have to go to prove that I'm not a fucking baby rabbit, fuck."

 

A laugh immediately leaves Brendon, so powerful and equipped with force he almost falls out of his chair. "Hey Patrick," He says, still traces of laughter left clear in his voice, and the punk braces himself for impact.

 

"You are a rabbit," Brendon nods, "and when you finally grow some balls and fuck Pete, you'll be a blue rabbit fuc--" Holy shit.

 

"Please no, I'm eating, just..." Patrick attempts to protest this horrific pun, oh my god, he's never been more ashamed of the people he chooses to keep company with.

 

Also that song, just thinking about it sends a shudder throughout the entirety of his body. Although Brendon's not having any of it.

 

"Blue rabbits fucking, Patrick!" Brendon belts out, seemingly ready to serenade Patrick with his own shame and he kind of wants to die.

 

"Fuck you, fuck that song, fuck your boyfriend, but most of all fuck Pete." Patrick growls, shoving away his plate of jam coated toast.

 

"Are you gonna? Or can I?" Brendon smirks, leaning in. Patrick backs away, narrowing his eyes. Ignoring Brendon, his eyes flick downward and his fingers graze over the phone's screen to open the previous message.

 

 **Buttercup** :  _Sup bluejay. Meet at the mall. The tree is coming, but we can ditch nd we cn chill at the record store while u get a bner ovr all the prince._

 

Patrick snorts and softly sighs. Pete's clearly more comfortable with him as of late. Once again they clicked. Almost as if they're best friends now. That would be great...y'know if Patrick didn't see Pete as total date material, but whatever.

 

"Oh my god he knows about your man crush." Brendon says in awe, head propped over Patrick's shoulder. "Well...not your man crush, but--"

 

"Oh my god, fuck off Brendon," Patrick groans, sliding out of his chair, making Brendon stumble in the process. "That's what your ass gets."

 

And then Patrick's striding out of the the room, ignoring Brendon's grumbles of mediocre insults at best, but that's just Patrick's opinion.

 

Patrick's totally gonna kick Brendon's ass for the blue rabbit joke later though.

 

However he kicks Brendon's ass on a regular basis.

 


	9. Don't Tell Me...You Saw My True Face?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda shit but y'know how the story goes. (Hopefully)

  
Sneaking his way through a crowded food court was definitely not on Patrick's agenda today. The shit he does for his friends. Honestly he's a little angel...Y'know sometimes. He's lacking in stealth. But thankfully his baggy sweatshirt and shades makes that irrelevant. However it's beginning to get uncomfortably warm for the poor celebrity in the too big hoodie.

 

"I'm beginning to worry whether or not you're gonna get a heat stroke," Pete tells him, prodding a finger at his chest. Patrick snorts, pushing the hand away.

 

"If I faint you'll know." Pete scowls at him. "But then again I don't want you to have to drag me to the nearest hospital."

 

"I think you're forgetting about the tree," Pete mumbles, mouth wrapped loosely around a fry. Patrick shrugs, and then arches a brow at Gabe checking out strangers from across the area. Scouting for the next victim, Patrick sees. He shakes his head, sighing. poor soul.

 

"Hey tree, where's the fire?" Patrick asks, raising an eyebrow when Gabe ignores him. Yup, poor soul.

 

"Wouldn't that be awkward if someone was actually on fire," Pete comments quietly, tilting his head to get a look. Patrick gives a imitation of a grimace. "Guess I'd be telling fortunes from then on."

 

Pete scrambles quickly to lean over the table and seize Patrick's hands before pulling him forward resulting in a grunt from the other. "Tell me," he says in a hushed tone and Patrick narrows his eyes, beginning to get suspicious. "Will I ever get hot?"

 

A boisterous laugh leaves Patrick's mouth before he can put a stop to it and when he tries it only ensues to worsen. "Babe don't change a thing...You're the actual fire," Patrick exhales in a breathy falsetto, waving a hand at himself to emphasize the fact...then again he's already risking a heat stroke.

 

"Pete you're not helping my situation, god," Patrick grumbles, rolling his eyes and a wide grin falls upon Pete's face. "How tragic...My hotness is causing strokes." Patrick nods his agreement.

 

"Tragic indeed, no wonder there's no significant other," Pete shoots him a look, feigning offence. "Must have killed them all," Patrick mutters under his breath, but keeps it a high enough volume for Pete to decipher.

 

"Now you know my secret," Pete smirks and Patrick nods again. "I guess you know what happened to Jason then," Patrick mumbles with a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He loses the battle when Pete blanches. "How the fuck do you know about that--oh my god, Joe told you."

 

Patrick's aware Gabe's in his own little world so he slides out of his chair. Curls his hand around a somewhat panicked Pete's arm, pulls and they're off. Plan set in motion.

 

What's the plan again?

 

Who knows?

 

Who cares?

 

Not Patrick.

***

"Dude if you're gonna buy it, buy it," Pete says rolling his eyes. Patrick gives a glare, though it contains no heat within it. "I doubt you're one to talk four eyes, "Oh Patrick, look at that! It has a cat on it--"

 

"I did not buy that--"

 

"That's because I was there to decline your wishes," Patrick says, cutting Pete off. "I'm such a good friend." Pete pouts at that. Fuck, anything but the damn pout. Wide brown eyes are now staring Patrick down and god knows he didn't sign up for this.

 

"If you stop looking at me like that--ugh, we'll go back and buy you your stupid sweater vest...Okay?" Patrick mutters in defeat. Pete's definitely not as innocent as Brendon makes him out to be. Especially by the smirk his lips have obtained. Why's Patrick looking at Pete's lips again? Well that's his business.

 

"Mm, you'll buy it? Wanna be my sugar daddy?" Pete laughs, giving a slight twist of his hips.

 

"I--uh, um--" Patrick stutters, fumbling with his words because nobody deserves this kind of foul treatment. Honestly.

 

"Dude I was joking, chill," Pete grins, poking Patrick in the cheek. "Can't believe I was scared of you," he murmurs, eyes full of a sort of happiness Patrick knows he's radiating back.

 

"Maybe you should be," Patrick glowers and Pete tilts his head. "Nah." Well it was worth a shot. Patrick considers the notion of tickling Pete to death. He might have come across a certain little secret...Secret being Pete's thighs are ridiculously ticklish. It was an accident that he even found out during one of their friend's "Get together" More like get drunk and get screwed...Together.

 

He's been using the threat ever since.

 

But the dude at the counter has been giving them odd looks since they came in so...Patrick would rather not risk getting kicked out.

 

"Y'think Gabe's pissed at us?" Patrick asks, taking the stealthy route (Still appalling at the skill by the way) into changing the subject. "Dunno, he's only called me like...four times."

 

"Oh...perfect."

 

"This was probably a bad idea," Pete adds and Patrick heaves a loud exhale, standing up on wobbly legs from being sat down in a chair for far too long. "Ass gone numb?" Patrick's none too sure as to why he felt the need to grit out a reply to that sentence with words such as, "I'll make your ass numb."

 

Pete looks at him for a long moment with wide eyes, but shakes it off in the end, giving a nervous laugh he says quietly, "Alright, chill out there blue."

 

Patrick catches his bottom lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowing. "I apologize if that was too--" The last thing he needs to scare Pete off with his whole big and tough bravado, but Pete just shakes his head and cuts him short with "Nah dude," and gives a small grin. "You're good."

 

"Bullshit, but alright," Patrick grumbled, stretching his legs somewhat. Pete scoffs in return. "I'll let you know if you're a dick and same with me, yeah?"

 

"Duh, buttercup." Patrick jests, softly nudging Pete. "Blue jay," Pete responds automatically, pursing his lips and tapping his foot in an irritated manner.

 

"Be the buttercup to my blue jay," Patrick loudly declares placing a hand to his chest and Pete grins softly before catching him by the wrist and heaving him forward. "C'mon we got places to be and sights to see!" He crows.

 

And then they're off, speeding out of the record store and said records previously in Patrick's hand laid astray and forgotten spread over the counter they were formerly sat at.

 

The cashier shot them a dirty look when Pete tripped and stumbled over literal air though thankfully Patrick was there to grab him by the scruff of his neck. Probably saving his life or whatever.

 

Turned out Gabe was only calling because he had to ditch himself. Pretty expected. Off to possibly bang a stranger from the food court? Yes.

 

The only thing Patrick ended up buying from the mall was Pete's sweater vest.

 

Pete declared his love for Patrick afterwards.

 

Patrick didn't feel butterflies because that's lame.

 

Butterflies are lame.

 

He's totally lame.

 

He totally felt butterflies.

 

He's totally fucked.

 

Fuck.

 

***

 

"Okay, so...Your place? Movies?" Patrick asks, a delighted grin set in place and Pete mimics it which sends wave of dizziness over the punk. Not because he has a crush...A different reason of course, like...y'know his ranging on developing a stroke. That's obviously the reason.

 

"Well, duh...Oh! My roommate..uh, Mikey might be there..." Pete trails off, eyebrows scrunching up before he continues. "I'm surprised you haven't met him." Well Patrick was never informed of a mysterious roommate and from Pete's stiff form...It's a discussion that he probably shouldn't delve too deep for a too long of time.

 

Doesn't make his curiosity any less evident though...Now does it?

 

"Oh...Okay," Patrick mumbles in a low voice, switching his view to the windows of a store he's never bothered to go into. Maybe he should from what's visible to his eyes. Leather pants. A gift for Pete? Patrick would totally do it.

 

"Hey Pete," Patrick says, laughter laced within his words as he nudged Pete's shoulder. "What?" Pete's giving him a look that says to hurry the fuck up because the mall is beginning to crowd and wow it's like a million degrees in here. Patrick decides to repeat this thought aloud and Pete laughs. "Exaggeration makes for a good story."

 

"Mhm, but okay look at those pants," Patrick says, pointing at said leather and Pete's eyebrows raise, giving him an incredulous look. "There's no way--wait are you wearing them? Because that would be super ho--"

 

"No, I meant for you--Don't give me that look," Patrick demands, frowning at Pete's whole "Yeah right" exterior. This punk is a firm believer that any nerd can rock any style of pants be they're checkered, or leather...or both. Whatever. "I think you'd pull them off...Honestly."

 

"Okay Patrick we didn't come here for leather pants." Well he's right about that from the bag of 80s flicks nestled in a plastic bag within Patrick's grasp. "Screw you, I'm totally getting those for your next birthday."

 

"I'll wear them on Halloween...I'll be you for the day," Pete offered, then puckered his lips at the end and Patrick pulls the whole act of moving away in disgust. Act is definitely a keyword for the fact that he so would've took that kiss and brought it to whole 'nother level.

 

"Are you not a pecking type of guy? I mean blue jay...Tongues?" Patrick sputters at that and (gently) hits Pete with the bag in his hand. "I'll let you know," he says, wiggling his tongue at the other. Former nerd wrinkles his nose and backs off.

 

"Don't ask if you're not ready for the answer, sugar." Pete chuckles and says "Shut up," patting Patrick's shoulder in affection right before a stranger bumps into the former sending his shades and hat tumbling to the hard cold tiled floor. While his beanie is still intact and in one piece his glasses are cracked and screwed up all to hell.

 

Patrick's eyes widen in a horrified fascination at the sight. The man who bumped into him pauses, stares at him. "Aren't you--" and then a piercing scream shatters through the already roaring plaza and Patrick flinches when it hits his eardrums before seizing Pete's hand and making a run for it.

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck.

 

_Fuck._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops...?


	10. The Moonlight Appears so Beautiful Against Your Eyes M'dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I know. Everyone who read and liked this (ha) I apologize for my bullshit. School and all that. Excuses, excuses. I'm still alive though so there's that. This chapter has been delayed long enough so...here you go? It could be longer tbh, but...I feel like that would ruin the mood.

"Does this happen to you a lot?" Pete asks, quietly treading behind him. They're currently trapped in an alley way and all Patrick can do is sit there, horrified with his head in his hands. He's not even aware of their current location. Too many turns, left, and right. He's dizzy just at the thought of it. His throat feels tight and itchy, his eyes sore and his eyelids heavy. He turns a weary glance back at Pete.

 

"Define 'a lot,'" Patrick snorts, a bitter chuckle escaping him. "I'm _really_ sorry about this." Pete purses his lips for a brief moment, before shaking his head. "You're being ridiculous." " _Well gee, thanks,_ " Patrick thinks, with a frown forming. "It's not your fault that dude bumped into you," Pete continues, walking towards him to place a gentle hand upon his shoulder. It's warm, burning his skin. Patrick swallows carefully and then says "I guess."

 

Pete gives a sweet smile that Patrick feels as if he could acquire a cavity from only staring at for a short period of time. "To be honest the only thing I'm worried about is whether or not you have hearing damage," Pete jokes, a small laugh leaving him. "Man that girl could scream, don't blame her though."

 

That manages to shatter Patrick's sullen exterior and he cracks a smile. "You know what I'm more upset about? I lost my hat," he whines like it's the end of the world. _It kind of is._ Pete gasps, the hand on his shoulder tightening and Patrick can feel his cheeks flush. Only just. "Dude, What if someone _clones_ you?"

 

Patrick replies with a roaring laugh, slapping his hand against his knee. He then grimaces. "The last thing we need is more of me walking about." Pete immediately scoffs, aiming to shake his head in disagreement, his glasses wiggle with him. Pushing them up he vehemently claims "That's like, the first thing we need." Patrick is starting to believe something is definitely wrong with him. His stomach feels funny and his heart is practically doing cartwheels as lame as it sounds.

 

Patrick turns back, avoiding anymore unnecessary eye contact with Pete. "You're a sap Wentz." As he utters this, he subtly shrugs the other's hand off of his shoulder. Pete doesn't at all seem put off by this from his brightly spoken response of "I try, I really do." Patrick kinda wishes he wouldn't, but he can't just say that. He at least attempts to not be rude. Sometimes.

 

"So...are you just going to spend eternity sat on that box, or are we going to call someone and explain our situation," Pete questions, circling around, a bounce within in his step before he squats down in front of him, a slight tilt to his head making Patrick grit his teeth. "I don't know...This box is pretty comfortable." Pete smirks, rolls his eyes, and then stands up straight. "Then you can live in it."

 

Patrick hums, adjusting his body into a more comfortable position. "Sounds good, I mean...privacy," he mused, twirling his finger. Pete sighs, and fondly pats his arm. With every resounding pat comes forth a quiet voice in the back of Patrick's head painfully whispering " _No. No. No._ "

 

"You poor soul...but I'm not letting you live in cardboard, so what's our next plan?" Patrick half-groans. Holding out his hand, he expects Pete to help him up. "Be a doll," is the only thing he says.

 

"Ugh," Pete replies. "Lazy ass." He then assists Patrick onto his feet. "You know it," Patrick agreed with a grin. "I'll call Brendon." Pete raises an eyebrow in question, but then nods his head.

 

"Yes, because he's incredibly reliable." Ah, yes, Pete's still holding a grudge over the whole being left stranded at the theater a couple of months back. Long story short Brendon's attempting to be cupid and his only line of reasoning was "Don't question the love doctor." Patrick can't help but question a lot of things.

 

"He can be," Patrick mutters, shrugging his right shoulder as he digs into his pocket to scoop up his phone. "Y'know when it counts - wait, I don't even know where we are," he remembered, his movements stilling. "I do," Pete replies to Patrick's relief. He then begins to make grabby hands towards the phone. "Gimmie, gimmie!" The phone is easily handed over.

 

It only takes three phone calls before Brendon actually picks up.

 

Now don't get Patrick wrong, that's Brendon's personal best.

 

***

 

A half an hour has passed, well thirty eight minutes to be precise and there's no Brendon in sight. It's dark, chilly, the only light illumining them being the moon and the streetlights. They're sat on the curb, bored out of their wits. Patrick's hood is up, concealing his face because he can't help but feel paranoid especially after the incident. "So..." Pete starts, quite awkwardly Patrick notices. "I'm going to kill Brendon," he responds without hesitation. Pete snorts, slugging his arm around Patrick. "That's if you beat me to it."

  
Without thinking Patrick leans into the touch and hums. "We can join up, he won't stand a chance." Pete glances at him with warm eyes that could give anyone heart palpitations. "I don't know...you seem like the lone wolf type." Patrick's not sure whether or not that's considered a good thing or a bad thing. "Maybe that's my punk rock aura shining through."

  
"Such a tough little dude, you would've been useful in high school," Pete observed, neck bent to fit his head into the crook of Patrick's shoulder. "That's me, your own personal body guard." Pete giggles into his neck. "That's not what I meant. We would've been like the best of friends." Patrick peers down, eyes meeting Pete's. Whiskey brown staring back at him. Vulnerable and genuine. They're bright and lively and they make Patrick dizzy. He's definitely coming down with something.

  
Pete's cheeks appear to be reddening, but Patrick's sure he's only seeing things. Without a doubt Pete is definitely the utmost beautiful person he has ever had the fortune of meeting. Patrick means this as a friend of course. Friend's can find each other beautiful. There's no rule against it. Not that Patrick's aware of at least.

 

Normally this would be odd. Two people staring at each other for more than a split second, but Patrick feels at ease. He's too busy examining every detail of Pete's face to worry about it.

 

The light crinkles placed around his widened eyes. The tiny specks of gold within the whiskey behind those blasted glasses attempting, though failing to shield them from view. The glow of the moonlight upon his cheeks. The smooth curve of his cheek bones down to the the soft pink of his slightly chapped lips. Beautiful. He might only be imagining it, but there seems to be a light dust of crimson littering across Pete's delicate features.

  
"You have really...nice eyes," Patrick murmurs in a faint awe. He clears his throat as Pete shyly smiles back at him. "Thanks," Pete replies, lifting his head off of Patrick, eyes not wavering for a moment as they continue to stare back at him. Patrick has the strongest urge to lean forward, and...and...

  
Patrick slowly advances, his nose brushing against Pete's. He hears a sharp intake of breath come from the other as he maneuvers in closer. His eyelids begin to close shut, before a car's raucous honk catches him by surprise and he tumbles backwards out of Pete's hold. "Holy -" It takes one startled glimpse to see it's Brendon.

 

He risks a side-peek at Pete to see the stunned expression and instantly feels terrible. Dread pools at the bottom of his stomach and his heart is gripped with a terrifying realization. So much for it only being a 'friend thing'. Brendon is certainly not the 'love doctor' as he so smugly announced prior to the situation at hand.

 

Cautiously sitting up and ignoring the obnoxious honking of his so-called 'friend' he bites his lip and stammers out "So...you still up for movies at your apartment?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I apologize, I suck.
> 
> But so does this chapter.


	11. A Long Morning Overwhelmed by Distrustful Glances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected meeting full of not so unexpected glares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEy nOW, HEY NOW. New chap full of experiences that Patrick doesn't need right now and I've literally had this written for days and I've been afraid of posting because I'm a big chicken who can't flap their wings. Anyway posting this now for the sheer fact that I'm going to see fob tonight and hOly shit, but yeah enjoy!

Patrick let out a quiet groan, turning his head to the side he reluctantly cracked an eye open, immediately met with the most horrific thing. Sunlight, that is. Resisting the urge to hiss like a vampire, he blearily opens his eyes and at a snail's pace, sits up.

 

Taking a glance at his surroundings, he's met with the color beige. "Plain Jane," he softly mutters at the sight. It takes him at least twenty seconds to realize he's not in his own home, but Pete's apartment.

 

Ah, yes, falling asleep while watching soap operas at two in the morning with your so-called "friend," Patrick thinks to himself, with a glum frown. He kicks his feet out, striving for a more comfortable position, but manages a faint collision to something solid. With a furrowed brow he peers down and is met with the most adorable spectacle.

 

Pete Wentz, the guy currently ruining his life, curled around a plush pillow in between his legs with tufts of hair laid carelessly astray. Unkempt and disheveled, yet Patrick can't help but find it endearing. Ignoring the faint traces of drool on Pete's bottom lip, Patrick ponders to himself whether or not this is creepy before he hears the sound of a door jingling.

 

He struggles out of the duvet wrinkled over his lap and briskly stands up. So quick he goes lightheaded and his vision is victorious in blacking out and he almost stumbles over the coffee table in front of him. Gently shaking his head back and forth, his sight comes to and he's met with a tall lanky dude clad in glasses and a dark jacket stood at the front door. Well to be quite honest every one seems tall to Patrick.

 

The guy's expression is blank, but his eyes are filled with a blazing fury that would turn anyone to stone. Seconds pass of them staring at one another - Patrick wondering whether or not they're having a stare-down from the tension overwhelming the room and all that is in it. He can tell this dude isn't too happy - the look of him makes that clear.

 

Say something. Say something. Say something. Patrick thinks, berating himself to speak and defuse the dislike cooking up in this frying pan of a situation.

 

"Um," is all that comes out of his mouth - so to say he's definitely the next Shakespeare with his vast vocabulary. The guy arches a brow at him, gives him a one look over and wrinkles his nose in distaste. Okay, Patrick's used to the look of disgust because he doesn't exactly look "child friendly," but _come_ _on._

 

He realizes the guy's still gazing at his chest, making an irritated expression, so being reasonably curious his eyes dip down and - oh. He's not wearing a shirt - why the hell isn't he wearing a shirt? Where did his shirt _go?_ Looking back and forth from the ugly beige to the chocolate brown coffee table his shirt is no where in plain sight.

 

Well isn't this awkward.

 

"This totally isn't what it looks like," Patrick puts in abruptly when he notices the man's eyes go from him to Pete on the couch with his drool soaked pillow - which Patrick would normally find unpleasant, but who could find something so small and cute, gross?...Not him apparently.

 

"Who are you?" Patrick should be asking that - this guy just walked in. Wait, roommate - Mik - "..Mikey?" Pete slurs, slumping himself up over the back of the couch with drooped eyelids as he glances at the said man in question. He tilts his head and frowns before turning to Patrick. His eyes widen for a brief moment before he snorts. "Your shirt's in the laundry man - sorry about spilling soda on it."

 

Patrick pauses, thinks back and realizes that - oh - Pete most definitely spilled a drink on him. Apologized profusely right after and then offered to wash said shirt while also informing him of the fact that he could - could have borrowed one of his own shirts. He remembers waving it off like it was nothing. Remembers saying he was fine and that he was hot anyways. Remembers Pete making a joke about how he is hot and him flushing in embarrassment from the flattery.

 

Remembers thinking Pete also blushed - a light dash of pink coating his cheeks...he probably only imagined that part.

 

"Oh...okay, right."

 

Pete smiles at him, it's tender, but it also feels awkward...so Patrick deliberately walks over the mess of their so-called movie night all the way to the laundry room. Ignoring the side glances of distrust he obtains from Mikey as he scampers out of the room in a hurry.

 

Scavenging through the dryer he grimaces at the thought of what just happened. Mikey's certainly not gonna like him - ever. Fuck. That's just what he needs. He can't even find his shirt for god sake. Today is already shit and he only woke up ten minutes ago. He shuffles down the hall, his steps are careful - a gradual pace of dread. He peeks out from behind the door, noticing the two sat in the kitchen. He doesn't mean to eavesdrop it just kind of happens.

 

"Where were you dude? Thought you were supposed to be here last night..." Patrick notes the irritated look on Mikey's face, while he's sat in front of Pete with a plate of toast.

 

"Was at Gerard's - I texted you." Pete's face goes blank at that and he bites his lip as his eyes crinkle only just. Something he does when he feels repentant - a simple detail Patrick has memorized - nothing weird or strange about that. "Oh - must have missed it...sorry."

 

"So...that guy?" Mikey says, his words timid while the tone of his voice stern, almost mean, a little too on edge for Patrick's liking. "What do you mean 'that guy'?" Pete questions, his head cocking a bit with his arms looped over his chest. "Nothing, nothing," Mikey waves off, shaking his head. "Who is he?"

 

"He's Patrick, I told you about him - like a gazillion times." Patrick tries not to feel too smug about the thought of Pete talking about him. Right before he considers the fact that just because Pete talks about him doesn't exactly mean he's saying good things. After that Patrick mentally claps himself on the back for being brilliant at putting his own self down more times than he can count.

 

This is how his ego stays at a relatively normal size.

 

"Oh...yeah, him," Mikey mutters, a mouth full of buttered bread. Like it's an accusation. Has Patrick done something wrong in the past few months? Why is this guy acting like he's some kind of criminal - ignoring the fact that some people actually consider him to be one just from the look of his appearance, he's pretty fucking nice. ..or he tries to be nice...is he actually nice? What if he's wrong? What if he's actually a douche bag? Oh n -

 

"Patrick?" Pete calls, making him jump and collide with the door causing a racket. "Spying on us?" Pete drawls, grinning nice and big at him. Patrick knows It's said to be playful, but all it does is make him stammer out his next few syllables.

 

"Um - I couldn't find it - my shirt I mean! - My shirt." He would be tugging on the collar of that damn shirt if he had it on right fucking now - then again he most likely wouldn't of been in this problematic scenario than if he did.

 

"Oh? Fuck, I might have forgotten to dry it," Pete swears, twisting around in his chair to view Patrick properly in all his terrified glory. "You can just borrow one of mine - and actually wear it." Patrick forces out a nervous chuckle, his cheeks turning crimson at the memory. After Pete explains to him where it is he slowly backs away from the door before whirling around and jogging down the narrow hall.

 

He swings open the door, crossing the room. He's just gonna get a shirt, put it on, and no more dirty looks...at least he hopes. He heaves a big sigh as he opens the closet. Eyeing the rack for a split second before he snatches a black shirt off of a hanger. He's just about to leave before his eyes take note of something besides the black shirt. A pair of underwear on the floor of Pete's closet, but not just any underwear.

 

_Women's underwear._

 

Women's underwear. They're simple. A delicate white with a black lace trim. His eyes squint at the sight, he licks his lips, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and the first thought that pops into his mind is _maybe Pete got laid_ \- but - _but, fuck._ Patrick can't really imagine Pete with some girl - _more precisely anyone else._ Which tells him he's a bit too attached. Christ he needs to pull himself together.

 

 _Get the shirt and leave,_ he tells himself, closing the closet door, shy of just a little too hard. He hauls ass right out of that room. Attempting to zap the image of not-so innocent panties out of his memories forever. Doesn't need to think about it. _Absolutely fucking not._

 

He throws the shirt over his head, yanking it on, he shuffles into the room all the way over to his phone - ignoring the feeling of eyes resting upon his back. Burning straight into him. He texts Brendon to pick him up - which Pete promised he'd do last night, but Patrick doesn't want to burden him more so than he already has. He's got no problem annoying Brendon - _They do live together after all._

 

Patrick still doesn't know how Brendon talked him into that, and he refuses to believe it was ever his idea. Drunk or not, he's not that stupid.

 

Already his phone is buzzing and the message he gets from Brendon says "Oh my god," and then "Fine, you better have gotten some action. If not...well then I'm gonna kick your ass." Patrick grunts his annoyance before he taps out another message of "Looks like my ass is getting kicked then."

 

Glancing up from his phone, Patrick notices Pete staring at him with a questioning look that he doesn't feel like answering.

 

"Brendon's coming to get me so..."

 

Pete's mouth drops open slightly in surprise before he mumbles out "Oh, okay - I'll just give you your shirt next time I see you." It's soft and slightly - _disappointed?_ Nah, Patrick must be imagining things again.

 

"Yeah, yeah and I'll y'know give you yours back too," Patrick smiles, it's forced, yeah...but it still counts...right? The air around them is, well, still - odd in a way. _It's been strange ever since last night._

 

"I should get going," Patrick tells Pete, scooping up his shoes and treading over to the door. Brendon probably wouldn't be there to pick him up for another twenty minutes, but he feels like Mikey is in the process of shooting laser-beams at him with his eyes. In complete honesty he really isn't in the mood to deal with that for an any longer span of time than he truly needs to.

 

Stupidly he turns and stutters out a "It was nice to meet you," and it doesn't even matter whether or not Mikey understood it because all he responded with was a low grumble that barely even Patrick could hear. "...Right."

 

He pulls on his shoes, they're loose and he's missing a sock, but he can't really bring himself to care. Standing up straight before he wrenches open the front door and drags out a "Well...bye Pete." Scurrying out before Pete can even voice his goodbye.

 

Patrick's last fleeting thought is _why is it always him who makes the worst first impressions?!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn Patrick, back at it again with the worst first impressions.
> 
>  
> 
> No offense to people who like beige my folk's entire basement/living room is painted that color so...


End file.
